Arthur Kirkland and the Monster of the Deep
by FrUKing Awesome Canadian Hero
Summary: When Arthur Kirkland returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year of schooling, he has no idea what's in store. With bloody messages on the walls, a mysterious ring, and a new Slytherin student, the year quickly turns for the worse. Can he save his school? FrUK, PruCan.
1. Invasion of the Frog

**A/N: Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter, OR Hetalia. As much as I'd like to, I don't. So meh.**

**By the way, this story is actually starting based off of _At Hogwarts _by Megan Lo Saurus! She gave me the idea, and if you're reading this, Megan, I apologize if you think I'm stealing your idea. I have no intention of that. I think our plots will soon go different ways, however, so please don't be offended!**

**To everybody else... Go check out_ At Hogwarts_ if you like this!**

**Just for your information, Patrick is my Ireland OC. Artie needed a friend in his house, so I had to create one for him. As for the political relations... touche. I careth notteth.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter One: Invasion of the Frog<p>

Arthur Kirkland closed his emerald eyes happily, inhaling the thick, familiar scent of dark smoke spewing from the gleaming red train. All around him, girls and boys were hugging their families goodbye, but he'd left his Muggle parents far behind on the other side of the barrier to Platform 9¾, not looking back once as he returned to the Wizarding world—the world where he _belonged._

For eleven long years, Arthur's life had been ordinarily, completely, boringly normal. So normal it was almost _ab_normal. But then the letter had come; that small letter addressed in spidery writing to "Mr. A. Kirkland, the top bunk in the smallest bedroom" with the red wax seal on the front had changed his life. Before he'd known what was happening, Arthur had been swept into a world that was the complete opposite of all he'd ever known, full of magic and mystery and people_ just like him_. It was a thrilling thing. He'd never forget the wave of electricity that had flowed through his nerves when he'd found his wand, or the excitement of standing on Platform 9¾ for the first time, looking out at a thrillingly uncertain future.

Even to a wizard, it was amazing how the years could simply vanish in the blink of an eye. Now he was sixteen, in his second-to-last year here at the school. Where had the time gone?

Suddenly he was jolted out of his thoughts by a mocking pat to the head, whirling around to see his friend Gil standing behind him, with the little chick Gilbird sitting happily on his shoulder. Gilbert laughed.

"Long time no see, Artie!" he greeted with a wink, rumpling Arthur's already-messy blond hair. Gilbird cheeped in acknowledgment. "Muggles treating you well? Merlin, have you grown at _all_ over the summer?"

Arthur threw a friendly punch at his crimson-eyed friend for the last comment, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips even as he tried to suppress it. "Gil, for your information I _have _grown, and they're my parents, so of course they're treating me well!"

Gilbert smirked. "Well, I've got to ask, just in case you'd ever like to run away with me..."

Arthur finally resigned to the grin, shaking his head. "How many times do I have to tell you _no_ before it gets inside that thick skull of yours?"

"Aah... at least once more," Gil replied after a moment of mock contemplation. He shot the train a wary glance as the clanging of a bell burst into their conversation, picking up Arthur's trunk before he could protest.

"C'mon," Gil said. "We don't want to miss the train again, cause this time we don't have a flying car to borrow."

"True enough," Arthur grumbled good-naturedly, close on his friend's heels as they boarded the Hogwarts Express and started down the aisle, trying to find a compartment. Everywhere seemed packed this year, right down to the last car, but finally Gil poked his head inside one of the compartments to find Alfred and Matthew Williams. The fourth year Gryffindor twins were chatting happily, although Alfred was the one doing pretty much all of the talking, and both of them looked up when Gil cleared his throat pointedly.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, glancing at the two empty seats across from the twins.

Matthew smiled and shook his head. "C'mon in!" Alfred exclaimed in his usual over-boisterous way, nearly making Arthur jump even though they'd been friends for almost four years now. Merlin, that boy would never learn how to speak quietly, would he? Or even at a normal volume, for that matter.

Gil shoved Arthur's trunk into the overhead compartment, then flopped down beside his friend with a grin at the kid across from him. "So, Al, how was your summer?" Gilbert asked innocently.

"Aw, it was great!" Alfred burst out with nearly enough enthusiasm to pop Arthur's ears, and then he was off, talking about all the places they'd gone over break. Soon the train lurched into motion under their feet, and after a while Arthur simply tuned out Alfred's voice in favor of the comfortable clacking of the wheels beneath their feet. He sighed, settling back into the cushy seats and staring out the window as the speeding landscape outside gradually drifted from the grubby London train tracks to rolling prairies. The beginnings of a deep evergreen forest were just starting to appear on the horizon when Arthur stood, stretching and letting out a yawn. Alfred and Gilbert (Gilbird included) had taken to arguing happily over Quidditch teams and showed no signs of letting up as Arthur turned to the quiet Matthew.

"Want to see if we can find the food trolley?" he invited the smaller boy, whom he actually liked very much. Matthew was a good companion.

Mattie smiled and nodded, standing up also and following Arthur out into the corridor. They started off toward the front of the train, where the trolley was always parked, Arthur making light conversation and Mattie occasionally replying as the duo made their way through multiple cars on their quest for snacks. But suddenly a compartment door slid open and another boy stepped out into the corridor, blocking their path.

He had wavy, silver-blond hair just brushing his neck, and deep blue eyes that fixed Arthur with a smirking stare, though his lips betrayed no hint of the mockery.

"_Bonjour_,_ mon ami_," the boy said in a perfectly smooth voice, heavy with French accent. That voice somehow irritated Arthur. Every syllable dripped charm like honey. "And what would your name be?"

"I'm Arthur. Arthur Kirkland," Arthur replied shortly. For some reason he didn't like this boy at all. He made no move to hold out his hand.

The boy was now lounging against the wall, his eyes still alight with that infuriatingly superior smirk. "Aah, _Kirkland_. Muggle name, isn't it?"

"Yes," Arthur replied through gritted teeth. Matthew was looking nervously between the two of them, his mind clearly racing at a thousand miles a minute to find a way out of this before it turned into a full-fledged fight. The air crackled with a loathing tension.

The boy was still lounging against the wall, making Arthur even angrier with the way that nonchalant gaze made him feel like this new boy knew every secret about him, saw everything he'd ever done just by looking at his face. "I'm Francis," the boy said calmly, as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Arthur's hands itched to strangle him now. "If you wouldn't mind, _Francis_," he hissed, "we'd like to get past. You happen to be blocking the way."

The other boy looked around, playing innocent. "_Oui_, of course," he said, standing aside gracefully.

Arthur strode past, deliberately glaring at the door ahead. The Frenchman's silky voice followed him into the next car.

"_Au revoir_, Arthur," it laughed, before he slammed the door pointedly and just kept on walking.

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><p>Arthur looked up as a hand tapped his shoulder, a smile spreading across his face when he saw who it was. "Patrick!" he greeted at an almost Alfred-worthy volume, jumping up to hug the red-haired boy, his fellow Ravenclaw and closest friend, whom he hadn't been able to find on the train. Patrick grinned, patting his back until Arthur finally released him from the bone-crushing hug.<p>

"Nice to see you too, mate," he laughed, sitting down next to Arthur and massaging his ribs. "I haven't seen you all summer!"

Arthur shrugged, still grinning widely. His green eyes were alight and sparkling with happiness at seeing his friend again. "We really just stayed home and relaxed," he replied. "Pretty much a normal Muggle vacation. What did you do?"

Patrick was just about to reply when the doors to the Great Hall swung open and a herd of rather scared-looking first years began filing in; the older students almost immediately fell into an anticipatory silence. All eyes shifted to the front of the hall, where there stood a single, rather grubby hat. It was an ordinary hat, nothing that would be expected to do what it did next.

Sing.

Arthur laughed quietly as the first years jumped nearly two feet into the air, completely shocked, and exchanged an amused glance with Patrick before turning back to enjoy the show.

"_Oooooh, you may not think I'm pretty_

_I'm rather worn, at that_

_But there's a brain inside my head_

_For I'm the Sorting Hat_

_When Hogwarts and I were young and new_

_Four founders chose your place_

_But once they were all dead and gone_

_A problem they would face_

_For who was to choose your house_

_Once they had been erased?_

_Gryffindor liked bravery_

_the boldest were the best_

_So come and try me on_

_and put your courage to the test_

_Ravenclaw thought wise ones stood out_

_far beyond the others_

_If you belong in Ravenclaw_

_I'll sort you without bother_

_To Hufflepuff hard workers were_

_worthy of recognition_

_By splitting them off from the rest_

_She made a hard decision_

_With Slytherin they mattered_

_if they hungered for great power_

_With that, my song draws to a close_

_Before the late night hour_

_So step right up_

_don't be afraid_

_to put me on your head_

_Sir Gryffindor left me behind_

_So I could choose instead!"_

After a moment of ringing silence, the Hall broke into a rain of applause. As soon as the noise died down, Professor McGonagall stepped up, unfurling a scroll of parchment, and called the first name.

"Jacob, Aaron."

A dark-haired boy trudged nervously up to the stool, taking his seat and tentatively put on the hat. It fell straight down over the boy's eyes, staying there for a moment as though deep in thought.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat finally bellowed, to be greeted with whistles and applause from the Hufflepuff table as the boy pulled off the hat, happily jogging over to join his fellow classmates.

Finally, after many more names and Arthur cheering himself hoarse right along with all the other Ravenclaws, the Sorting came to an end, and the headmaster rose to speak.

Dumbledore always gave off an air of extraordinary energy, regardless of the long silver hair and beard that showed his age. The headmaster's eyes twinkled like the sun glistening on a pool of clear blue water as he addressed the students with a smile tugging at his lips.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" he greeted, arms spread wide. "I am glad to see every one of our students returning, and also glad to inform you that we have another new student joining us this year."

Arthur and Patrick exchanged looks of interest.

The headmaster smiled, looking over to the Slytherin table. "Francis Bonnefoy, could you please step forward?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

Sure enough, that frog had stood from the Slytherin table and was walking toward the front of the hall, seeming completely immune to the dreamy stares of all the girls, following him up the steps to where Dumbledore stood.

"Mr. Bonnefoy moved here from France early this summer," Dumbledore said, smiling at the boy. "He will be staying here at Hogwarts for the remaining two years of his schooling. Slytherin house has graciously accepted him into their ranks."

It made Arthur burn with anger, and he settled for glaring into the table until the feast began.

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><p><strong>Okay, peeps! One chapter down, a bazillion to go. Review for me? Pretty please? Pretty please with maple on top?<strong>

**P.S. Mr. Kumajiro says hello. ;)**


	2. Potions Class is Rigged

**A/N: Okay, my dear fellow fanfictionists, I have finally completed chapter two. Writing is something wonderful to do when there's an ice storm outside; at least my characters remember me!**

** I'm currently debating on how long to make this so it would be a convenient length to read; not too long and not too short. Will six or seven chapters work? **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I love this fic so much I've hardly slept at all since I started it, and Dad is threatening me with death if I don't sleep soon. **

**I don't think he knows this fic is about him and Papa.**

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><p>Chapter Two: Potions Class is Rigged<p>

Arthur sighed, flopping down next to Patrick and dropping his bag on the ground. Lunch was well over half finished by now, and Patrick looked at his friend curiously.

"What kept you, Artie?" he asked, watching as Arthur spooned a generous helping of food onto his plate and began wolfing it down so fast you'd think he hadn't eaten in centuries.

Arthur swallowed quickly before replying. "Library," he said pointedly, before shoveling more food into his mouth. "Two of my morning classes gave out homework and I also need to find a timeline to one of the goblin wars that isn't in our book_ before tomorrow_."

Patrick sighed, shaking his head. "Good freakin' Lord. Artie, you've officially lost your mind."

Arthur shot him a grin. "And you think I ever had one?"

"How goes life?"

Gilbert popped up behind them, sticking his head into their conversation with an evil grin on his face. "Do I hear something about Artie being crazy?"

"Sure thing, Gil," Patrick laughed, patting Gilbird as he cheeped in agreement. "He's already doing homework."

Arthur made an indignant noise of protest around his mouthful of food. "No, I'm looking for that bloody goblin timeline! Homework is for study hall! There's a difference!"

Patrick and Gilbert exchanged glances as they tried to stifle their grins. Gil coughed, choking down a laugh and earning himself a glare from Arthur, but then something seemed to occur to him.

"Hey, Artie, I just remembered! You know that Francis Bonnefoy kid?"

Arthur nodded cautiously, bracing himself. He knew Gil and Francis were both in Slytherin, but he'd hoped that his friend would have the decency to stay away from that frog. "Do I really want to know?" Arthur asked hesitantly.

Gilbert shrugged. "I dunno, your choice, but anyway, his name sounded familiar, and I was talking with him and 'Tonio down in the common room last night, and I figured out how I knew him! When we were little I lived in France, and just after I turned seven we moved here. We were friends whenever I lived in France! Turns out he knows 'Tonio too, through some freaky pen-pal thing, but anyway, isn't that awesome?"

"Yeah, great. Absolutely smashing," Arthur said dryly, putting down his fork. For some reason he'd suddenly lost his appetite.

Gil looked at him for a moment. "Why so enthusiastic?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

Arthur sighed, now reaching for his bag. "Francis and I pretty much got off on the wrong foot. I get random urges to strangle him anytime I see him."

Gilbert fought a grin. "Wrong foot, indeed. What did he do, rape you? Punch you? Swear at you in every language known to man?"

"He just annoys me, all right?" Arthur glared at his friend, but was prevented from saying anything more as the bell boomed out over the school, signaling the end of lunch. He stood, grabbing his bag and striding away toward the doors of the Great Hall, not once looking back at Gilbert and Patrick.

"I've never met more of a pigheaded Brit," Gilbert reminisced as he watched his friend's retreating form. Arthur was sometimes completely hopeless.

Patrick just nodded resignedly. "I'm with you on that one, mate."

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><p>Arthur rounded the corner, heading down toward the Potions classroom when he nearly ran head-on into something, which in his eyes, was quite disgusting.<p>

That new kid, Francis Bonnefoy, had some random girl pressed up against the wall and was snogging her face off. Their disgusting slurps were enough to make Arthur wish he hadn't eaten lunch after all, and it was all could do to restrain himself from gagging as he felt bitter acid rising in the back of his throat.

"Do you _really_ have to do that here?" he managed to burst out, the revolted look on his face adding to the emphasis.

Francis finally came up for air, turning to Arthur with a smirk. "Unfortunately for you, _ma cherie_," he replied smoothly, blue eyes glinting with mischief. The girl giggled, her face flushed, and Francis let her up, sending her on her way as he kept his deep ocean eyes locked on Arthur's green ones. Arthur shivered involuntarily, quickly continuing on his way down the corridor when Francis fell into step beside him easily.

"It's just a kiss, _non_?" Francis asked airily. Arthur gritted his teeth, choosing to ignore that mention.

"So you've got Potions after lunch too?" he hissed, glaring straight ahead.

"_Oui_, _mon ami_!" the taller boy answered. That poisonous charm was back as Francis flipped his blond waves casually out of his face and opened the door to the Potions dungeon, holding it for Arthur.

Arthur took one glance at him and growled deep in the back of his throat.

"Fuck my life," he announced.

Francis gave the ghost of a chuckle as he watched the Brit stalk to one of the desks near the front and flop down, fuming. Although he wasn't trying to provoke Arthur, Francis had to admit it was funny when he got mad. He took a seat in the back row, sitting back and observing the boy as he set his bag on the ground. They were early to class, so there was plenty of time to spare and very few seats filled, allowing Francis a clear view. If Arthur ever stopped getting mad at Francis upon nothing more than hearing his voice, Francis might have to actually thank him for the extra few minutes.

Arthur leaned down, rummaging in his bag for a moment before pulling out the Potions book and setting it on his desk along with his quill and ink. He was slim, Francis observed, but not lanky. There was muscle under those Ravenclaw robes.

Even though on anyone else he would've thought it terrible, Francis even had to admit that Arthur's unruly blond hair looked, surprisingly enough, actually good enough to meet approval. And those eyes... they had a deep glow to them, nearly cat's-eye gold near his pupil and fading to a deep, jadey forest color, then to green-gray at the edges. All together, Artie was a pretty good-looking kid. His eyes were a definite plus. Francis wondered briefly why he didn't have a girlfriend, but didn't get to dwell on it because Gil and Antonio flopped down on either side of him just in time for the lesson to begin.

Gilbert looked at him incredulously, then quickly scribbled a note.

_How'd you get here so fast?_

Francis smirked. _Arthur's fault. I just tagged along._

Gil shrugged. _True enough._

They exchanged grins, before Francis decided grudgingly that it would probably be a good idea to actually pay attention to what was going on, given that he was completely new here. Dumbledore had warned him ahead of time that the British system of potionmaking was probably very different from the French, and Merlin, was he right. By the time the teacher stopped talking, the diagram on the board was covered in markings that looked like complete nonsense to Francis, and he was hiding the beginnings of panic with his usual 'suave' mask. The only thing comprehensible were the ingredients listed on the side of the board, and those weren't much use without directions on how to use them.

He raised his hand as the teacher began to pair them off.

"Mr. Bonnefoy?" the professor called irritably.

"Professor, the British potions system is different from what I used back in France. I might need a... _good_ partner."

Apparently the professor got the drift. "Not to worry," he said dryly, then turned to the one person Francis was absolutely sure he _couldn't_ work with.

"Kirkland! With the French boy."

Arthur looked incredulously between Francis and the professor, wondering how rigged this class could possibly be.

"But-" he began to protest, only to be cut off by their professor.

"No _buts_, Kirkland, now move."

Francis gave Arthur a sympathetic look, but he just rolled his brilliant green eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh as he flopped down at the desk Gil had just vacated in favor of partnering with Antonio. The potions book fell on the floor and he swore, diving beneath the desk to retrieve it. Francis decided it would be best if he just kept his distance, and watched as the boy leaned down to get his book.

Arthur looked up to see the frog staring at him, suddenly feeling a bit on edge. Why was he looking at him like that? "_What?_" Arthur demanded.

Francis smirked, turning away. "Nothing,_ ma cherie_."

Arthur growled but let it drop, turning to the assigned page and looking it over. "Here," he finally said, shoving the book, a knife, and the ingredient kit across the desk. "Chop the roots."

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><p>As it turned out, they were the first ones done, and even with the proper texture for their potion. The color was a smidge awry, but it would still earn them good marks. Arthur looked around in surprise, then back to Francis, who was lounging with his feet lazily propped up on the desk. He was about to give the frog a grudging nod of approval when Francis turned to one of the girls in the back of the room, shooting her a sexy wink. The girl giggled and blushed, looking away, and Arthur let out a resigned sigh and reached down to rifle through his bag in search of something—<em>anything<em>—to distract him from that bloody frog's antics.

He finally pulled out the weathered sketchbook he always carried with him, dipping his quill in ink and pausing, deep in thought. The tip hovered just an inch above the surface of the parchment as he contemplated the age old question:

_What to draw?_

Biting his lower lip, Arthur stared at the wall, not really seeing it at all. _What to draw...?_ He sighed, glancing around the room for inspiration. _What to bloody draw?_

Francis noticed Arthur scan the Potions classroom, as though searching for something he'd lost. He leaned forward in his seat, mildly interested, just as the tip of his quill touched the parchment.

Soon it was sketching intricate shapes, darting its way through rough lines, making things come alive in a way Francis had only ever seen with a wand. He sat forward, fascinated, and couldn't help but smile as Arthur leaned down so close to the paper his nose was nearly brushing the surface to start sketching out some intricate little detail. Yep, why didn't this guy have a girlfriend...? Arthur certainly had the traits quite a few girls in this school would go head-over-heels for if he would just come out of his shell.

Francis sat thinking about this for quite some time, and was suddenly jolted out of his pensive silence by their professor's voice.

"Well, well, Mr. Bonnefoy. You and Mr. Kirkland seem to have brewed the most accurate potion I've seen all day. The color's a bit off, but it should do. Full marks for the both of you," he told them with a note of approval, before swishing off to grade another group's concoction. Francis smirked slightly.

Arthur watched the professor go for a moment, before turning back to his paper and glaring at it intently. Something was off, he decided. But what?

Francis discreetly leaned over the boy's shoulder, trying to see the drawing better. He had to admit, it was better than anything he could've done, enchantment or no.

A lone tree stood in the middle of a dark, grassy field, silhouetted under the moon. The tree was twisted and gnarled, and in some places the bark was stripped off to expose the shiny inner wood of the trunk. There were long, raking claw marks and age-old scars in the peeling bark that remained. It looked dead, except for one tiny glimmer of hope.

Right in the middle of the moon, on the very tip of a slender twig, grew a leaf.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded, snapping Francis out of his trance. He blinked, trying to pull himself out of the drawing and back to reality.

"Nothing, _ma cherie_," Francis immediately replied with his usual silky-smooth smirk. Arthur looked at him for a moment, then just sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to the sketchbook and flipping to a clean page. Even though Francis still watched with supreme interest, it was carefully disguised and he kept his distance this time. As he watched Arthur draw, he finally turned to the one subject that was still bugging him.

Francis had been brought up in a pureblood family, and although they had no issue with Muggle-borns or half-bloods, he knew how to read people like an open book. His parents had taught him to search their eyes, search their face, search the slight aura that every person seemed to have, and through this he always knew what they were going to do next, and most of what had happened to make them like this. Also, he seemed to have an involuntary talent at Legilimency, which only added the curse of knowing whatever their intentions were through the smoke of lies they always tried to weave. It was frustrating and depressing; people lost all depth. He'd finally gotten so tired of it that he had agreed to move here to England, where he met Arthur.

Arthur, who he couldn't read at all. Arthur, who seemed to know exactly what Francis thought he'd do next, and then deliberately went and did the opposite. It was nice, for a change.

The bell rang, jolting Francis out of his thoughts for the third time that class, and he gathered up his books before starting on his way to Transfiguration.

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><p><strong>Yaaaaay! Second chapter down! Now I need to feed Mr. Kumijaro and start on the third one, so if you'll excuse me...<strong>


	3. The Temporary Parley of Astronomy

**A/N: Alright, I know you all are waiting for the plot to start. I'm getting there; next chapter they should be able to get out and about... not saying where! If America would leave me alone I would be able to get these chapters done a lot faster, but you know him...**

**Anyway, enough of me. Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Three: The Temporary Parley of Astronomy<p>

Arthur let out a groggy moan, stretching as he fought to pry his eyelids open. The world outside was cloaked in thick midnight darkness, and he checked his watch. 11:57 PM. He had enough time for a nice bath and trip down to the kitchens for a snack before Astronomy. With another yawn, Arthur roughly rubbed the sleep from his eyes and dragged himself out of bed.

The stone floor of the dormitory was chill beneath his bare feet as he quietly padded around his bed, grabbing a clean set of robes and slipping on his shoes before quickly slipping out of the room. He always hated having to get up at midnight for Astronomy, but not because he didn't like dragging himself out of bed; he didn't like it because the other boys in his dormitory tended to be extremely cranky when they were awoken at any time before seven in the morning. Especially Patrick. Arthur slipped out the door of the Ravenclaw common room and into the shadowy corridor beyond.

He headed up a flight of stairs toward the Prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor, which was never used this late since all the prefects would be in bed like good little children after their rounds, and smirked as he tapped the hidden door once with the tip of his wand. He wasn't supposed to be able to get in. Technically he wasn't supposed to be out this late either; even if you took Astronomy, there were strict guidelines on the time frame during which you were allowed to leave the common room and make your way up to the tower. He was about an hour early, but Arthur liked the school when it was dark and silent.

Arthur did a lot of things he wasn't supposed to.

"_Reseiro_," he whispered, now turning his wand like a key in a lock. Although _Alohomora_ normally worked on locks, the prefects' bathroom had required a special little charm that Arthur himself had devised to break down the wards. The wall suddenly melted away to reveal a solid door, and he reached out to turn the handle and step into the wide space beyond.

The bathroom was lit by the soft glow of a few lamps on the walls, with no one else here save for the mermaid in her portrait on the wall. She giggled when she saw Arthur, flipping her long hair over one shoulder and reminding him uncannily of Francis. He shivered at the thought of that frog watching him bathe, tapping the door again with his wand to make it re-lock behind him. Just in case.

He stripped off his shirt and went to get the water running.

The warmly lit bathroom was misty and slightly steamy as Arthur slid into the hot water, enjoying its engulfing warmth. His feet touched the bottom, but only just, and he smiled, diving under the surface to swim down and lie on the floor of the bath. It was one thing he actually liked about himself; Arthur was slim enough that he could sit on the bottom of a pool and simply watch the other swimmers from below. This was especially fun when he was in a twelve-foot pool, standing on the floor of it as though he didn't even realize he was underwater in the first place.

But it was only fun when the pool was warm. If it was cold, or even slightly on the chilly side, he wouldn't last long before he'd start shivering. Being skinny did have its downsides.

Arthur's thoughts drifted as he surfaced and began washing himself, wondering who all would be in his Astronomy class this year. It never started in the first or second weeks of school, since there was still so much settling in to do, but from this third week forward he would be repeating the same routine every Tuesday and Friday at 12:00 midnight. Arthur's classes actually started at one in the morning, but he liked the routine he'd settled into perfectly well. After all, he had been doing this since way back in the beginning of fourth year.

He sighed, looking down through the rippling water. Had it really been that long?

Arthur finally climbed out of the bath after at least half an hour, shaking his messy blond hair out of his face as he grabbed a towel from the rack. He sat down on the cool tiles of the floor, slowly rubbing the fluffy white towel over his legs and back, gently drying himself off. Suddenly an odd thought struck him; it was one he normally wouldn't have come up with, but now it seemed completely relevant.

All his friends—even Patrick—had already slept with someone. Arthur had never even had a girlfriend. He lay back on the floor, thinking about it for a moment. Girls had never really interested him.

He knew that Gil would take pretty much anyone he could get in his bed—girl or guy. He wasn't really gay, but he wasn't straight either. He was just Gil. Arthur nearly wondered if Francis was the same way, but then he caught himself. He shouldn't even be thinking about that frog!

Arthur sat up, climbing to his feet and finishing drying himself off. He loved the feeling of being clean, and though he would never admit it, being free of clothes. All the same, he pulled his robes over his head with a sigh, unlocked the door with his wand, and stepped out into the darkened corridor once again. Arthur checked his watch as the door melted into the wall behind him. 12:48. Bloody _hell_, had he really taken that long? He really needed to learn not to get so lost in thought like that.

Arthur decided to skip the snack and headed quickly back to the dormitory to get his school bag before starting the long climb up the many flights of stairs to the astronomy tower.

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><p>It was one thing to climb those steps when you were awake, but it was something else all together when you were still half asleep, Francis decided as he started wearily up what had to be the sixtieth staircase since the Slytherin common room. He switched his bag to the other shoulder, finally reaching the landing, and trudged around the corner, out into the moonlit space of the Astronomy tower. The classroom was deserted and shadowy, but leading out of it was a simple stone archway to a wide, sweeping balcony kept contained by only a low stone wall. For a moment he thought he was the first one there, but then a figure on the far side of the balcony caught his eye. Francis thought he had forgotten how to breathe for a moment.<p>

Because a certain Ravenclaw with messy blond hair was staring straight at him.

Arthur's eyes shone like sparkling diamonds in the moonlight, his hair still damp from the bath and his robes flowing in the slight breeze. _And these classes are every Tuesday and Friday...?_ Francis wondered distantly. Somehow he was suddenly looking forward to them.

"Fancy seeing you here," Arthur said dryly, snapping Francis out of it. He shook his head in bitter mystification. "How many classes can I possibly have with you before they run out of bad luck to shove in my face?" he asked with resentment, turning away and plopping down on the low wall. He slung his feet carelessly over the side, as though he didn't even notice the fact that the shadowy trees on the grounds below were so far away they looked like props on a miniature train set.

Francis slowly approached him, sitting down about a foot away. He took a deep breath and said it.

"_Je suis désolé_."

The words hit Arthur like a freight train. He snapped out of his fuming silence, looking at the frog incredulously. He'd must've heard wrong...

"_What_ did you just say?" Arthur demanded, sure he was being mocked.

"I'm sorry," Francis repeated, sheepishly realizing it probably wasn't much use to apologize in a language Arthur didn't understand. "I don't know what I did to make you hate me, but I'd like it if you didn't hate me. You seem like a dangerous enemy to have."

Arthur was completely caught off-guard, staring at Francis for a second before he caught himself. "Er... Um, yeah, sure. So, let's just- um... start over, then?" he stammered awkwardly.

Francis turned to him with a grin. "_Bonjour_, my name is Francis Bonnefoy. I just moved here from France, so I hope you'll excuse me for general rudeness. And frequent intrusions of privacy. That tends to be what we Frenchmen do."

Arthur burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Not like _that_, you frog, but- oh, what the hell? Hi, Francis. I'm Arthur Kirkland. Yes, I am a Muggle-born, and I tend to be cantankerous, so I apologize in advance."

The boys exchanged grins, and Arthur choked down another burst of laughter. "So, we have a treaty now?" he asked.

Francis grinned evilly, almost like Gil. "I wouldn't say_ treaty_... more like a temporary Parley."

Arthur growled and socked him in the shoulder, but he was still fighting a grin. "If that's the case, then_ you're _the one surrendering."

Francis made no move to protest.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the night and the sounds of approaching footsteps as the other Astronomy students trudged their way out onto the balcony, panting heavily from the climb. Suddenly something occurred to Arthur.

"If you tell _anyone_ about this I swear to God I'll _Reducio_ your arse," he hissed menacingly. "And make sure you die a slow, painful death," he added as an afterthought.

Francis stifled a laugh. "Don't worry, you're not the only one who'd like to preserve their dignity," he replied in a low, conspiratorial whisper.

They exchanged tiny nods and promptly went their separate ways.

* * *

><p>Arthur sat down in study hall the next afternoon, stifling a yawn. He set his bag down on the table as Gil flopped across him.<p>

Gilbert smirked, catching sight of the hidden yawn. "And _that_ is why I'm not taking Astronomy," he said resolutely. "I've got much better things to do these nights," he added with a cheeky wink at a girl over Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur chucked his Transfiguration book at him.

"Come off it, you bloody pervert," he said, stifling a smile. Yep; Gil would always be Gil, as surely as the sky would always be blue.

Gilbert laughed, ducking the toss and then leaning down to grab Artie's book off the floor. But suddenly he caught sight of a pair of shiny black shoes approaching on the opposite side of the table, just so happening to belong to a certain Frenchman.

A certain Frenchman whom Artie happened to loathe with a burning passion.

This could not turn out well.

Gil popped up over the table quickly, just in time to see Francis sit next to Arthur as though it was the most normal thing in the world to flop down next to someone who longs to tear your face off, and watched the two incredulously as they proceeded to ignore each other rather than throwing rather extravagant death threats back and forth. He wondered briefly if his epic fail of a spell in Charms could've backfired so badly it had thrown him into an alternate dimension.

"What was the Defense homework for tonight?" Francis asked, digging through his bag. Artie continued editing his History of Magic essay, not looking up as he answered absentmindedly.

"You should really learn to remember your own homework, frog," he told Francis, though he sounded unnaturally good-natured. "Chapter two, page forty-six. Basic rules of how to duel properly. Summary due tomorrow."

"_Merci_," Francis replied, searching through his book for the correct page. This whole conversation had gone by without either one so much as looking at the other, and Gil wondered again if the Charm had indeed backfired to trap him in some crazy opposite of the real world.

Finally, he had to say something to them.

"Er, guys... aren't you going to try and tear each other's heads off or something?" he asked, failing miserably at offhandedness.

Francis and Arthur continued not looking at each other, although both wanted to exchange smirks at their friend's bewildered state.

"_Non_," Francis said smoothly, diving beneath the table to rifle through his bag in search of parchment.

"Do you still hate each other, then...?" Gil prompted confusedly.

Arthur smirked, marking out another error in his essay and then rolling it up and placing it in his bag. "Oh, hell yes," he said with finality, holding back silent laughter. He stood from the table and strode away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope there's some happy fangirls out there... we got Artie _naked_, what more do you want? Well, I know what you want, but I'm hoping to be able to wait until chapter six at least to change the rating to M.**

**Reviews make Mr. Kumajiro happy! Please leave one?**


	4. Nothing is an Accident

**A/N: HALLE_-FREAKIN_-LUJAH! I finally managed to smash my way through the writer's block on this chapter, so I really hope it's good. I apologize for the fact that they seem to be getting shorter and shorter, but the next one is going to be super-long since I've been using all my Science time to write it in my head...**

**Anyway, enough of that. Enjoy, and please leave a review! I need all the help I can get...**

* * *

><p>Chapter Four: Nothing Is An Accident<p>

_You up for a Hogsmeade visit?_

The note found Gilbert's hands under the desk, a scrap of parchment being pressed firmly into his palm. He quickly unfolded it, to be careful to hide it from McGonagall's sharp hawk's eyes, and shot his friend a questioning glance. Gil scribbled out a quick reply.

_Why? Just feel like skiving off?_

Arthur smirked slightly, nodding nonchalantly. _Charms homework due today._

_Aah._

_So, you coming, or do I have to go on my own?_

_Of course I'll come!_ Gil scrawled hastily, offended that Arthur would even think for a moment about skipping class without him. _Patrick invited too?_

_Nope_, Arthur replied. _You know how we Ravenclaws are... He'd throw a fit if he knew I was skipping._

_True. _Gil offered no protest.

Arthur couldn't resist a smirk. _Meet up at the statue of the one-eyed witch. Bring your cloak._

* * *

><p>Arthur stifled a hiss of pain. "<em>God<em>dammit, Gil, you just stood on my fuckin' foot—!"

"Utmost apologies," Gilbert retorted, half ignoring his friend as they slithered down the earthen passageway. It smelled of the heavy, rain-soaked soil that kept them in its confines, the absolute darkness finally fading and lightening a bit as they finally came within sight of their final destination: Honeydukes' cellar. A tiny chink of light filtered between the cracks of the floor tiles above them like a cold sunbeam through the clouds. Gil started unfolding the invisibility cloak that was tucked into his bag as he shoved his way ahead of Arthur, draping it over one arm while he used the other to push at the block above their heads. It gave way with a reluctant grind of stone on stone, and Gil leapt up to hoist himself out of the hole.

"All clear," he breathed, holding out a hand for Arthur. The smaller boy rolled his eyes but took the hand without comment, allowing Gil to pull him up and throw the cloak over the both of them.

"We're getting too big for this," Arthur muttered, noting the way the invisibility cloak left their feet (Gil's more than his, but he wouldn't ever admit that) to fend for themselves in plain sight. Gilbert just nodded as they started up the stairs.

A few nerve-wracking moments later, the pair threw the cloak off of themselves like two people bursting from water, desperate for the mild late-September air.

"So, where to?" Gil asked offhandedly, shoving the cloak back into his bag and shooting Arthur a grin. Arthur smiled back, emerald eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

"Why not the Three Broomsticks?" he suggested. "We can't get any firewhisky, but butterbeer's worth something..."

Gilbert's grin turned positively devious. "Awesome. It's alcohol, isn't it?" he smirked, before falling into step beside his friend as they headed for the pub. The streets were full of people, from young witches and wizards who looked no more than a year or two older than Gil and Arthur to ancient geezers so old they almost Dumbledore to shame. Almost.

Arthur caught sight of a young couple as they entered the Three Broomsticks, blushing lightly when he noticed the compromising position they were in. _Get a room_, he thought disgustedly. They were almost as bad as _Francis_, good _God_...

They sat down at the front bar, Gil ordering the drinks from a very pretty young woman no older than themselves. The girl shot him a cheeky wink, shaking her long brown curls as she turned around to grab two butterbeers, placing them in front of Arthur and Gil and then sauntering off to help another table.

After a moment of silence, something seemed to occur to Gilbert. "So, what's the scoop on you and Francis?"

Arthur nearly spit out his butterbeer. "_Excuse me?_ There is no '_scoop_'—"

"Come off it," Gil told him bluntly. "It's obvious you don't hate each other anymore, that's for sure."

"Well, I _put up with him_, if that's what you mean," Arthur spluttered, still fuming. "But for the love of Merlin, you make it sound like we're _dating _or something—"

"There _are_ a few conspiracy theories floating around." Gil confirmed his friend's worst fears, smirking when Artie slammed his face into the bar.

"Bloody hell." Arthur's voice was a muffled groan. "Where's the nearest deadly cliff?"

Gilbert laughed, patting his friend's back. "I assure you, I'm not the one spreading conspiracy theories. It's mostly the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls right now, so it should be a while before any effects reach either of our houses."

"I'll _kill _them," came the defeated reply.

They spent the next few minutes or so in comfortable silence once Arthur sighed and sat up again, enjoying watching the people around them, and in Gilbert's case, flirting with the pretty waitress. When they finally left the pub at least half an hour had gone by, and they stopped outside to see where they were going next.

"I'm headed for Zonko's," Gil said resolutely, but all the same he waited for Arthur's reply.

Arthur hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "I've got some books I wanted to look at," he told Gilbert, who smirked.

"The heart of a true Ravenclaw," he mocked. "Skiving off class to come look at books."

Arthur punched his friend's shoulder. "Meet up here in an hour," he said, before starting down the street toward the bookstore.

It was a small, low building, and the cool September sunshine was streaming through the front window when Arthur stepped inside. He smiled, inhaling the scent of the paper and ink and leather that always lingered here. He loved it. The pretty lady behind the counter smiled, her long blond hair cascading over her shoulders. Arthur returned it warmly.

"Where to begin...?" Arthur murmured to himself, before heading to a random section and beginning his search.

* * *

><p>"...What's this?"<p>

Arthur sat in the Ravenclaw common room, and up until a second ago had been reading contentedly in front of the fireplace. But now his finger traced a tiny square hole in one of the book's old pages, directly in the middle as though it had been carved there, and it went at least seven pages deep, if not more. It outlined a single part of the text pages below it, and he glared at it for a moment. _Word._ What was that supposed to mean?

Curious, he turned the page to find that there another gap opened up in addition to the first one, this one a couple lines down. _Of. _Now he was really intrigued, and flipped the page again.

_Snakes._ Arthur's heart was suddenly pounding as he continued turning the pages, eventually to reveal a poem of sorts. The last part didn't rhyme, but it was clearly a riddle.

He scribbled it down on a spare sheet of parchment just to be sure he knew exactly what it was saying.

_Word of snakes_

_Hidden in the lines_

_Speak to the tap_

_As one lives, the other dies_

As if that wasn't confusing enough, the last line just puzzled him completely. It didn't fit in with the rest, and was all scribbled in the last hole, but between the lines of the actual text.

_Nothing is an accident._

For some reason those four last words sent a chill down his spine, and he quickly turned away from that page just because it felt creepy, only to find another large hole carved in the next pages. But this one didn't outline words.

Inside the gap were the fragments of a ring.

He carefully brought them out, the four shards of emerald green glass crackling and sparkling in the light. Arthur had never seen anything like this before. Quickly he shut the book and lay the four pieces down on the front cover to look at them more closely.

There were cracks all through the ring, creating sparkling edges inside the glass but complicating any chance of repairs. Arthur was mildly surprised that it didn't simply crumble in his fingers as he carefully rearranged the shards, trying to figure out how they went together so he could use a quick _Reparo _and fix it. Sliding the pieces together gently, he carefully lined up the edges, and was just about to use the spell when something amazing happened.

A band of green light flowed around the shards of the ring, locking them together, and suddenly there were simply no cracks to repair. He almost jumped at how suddenly it flashed and then was gone, casting a quick glance around the common room in case anyone else had seen it, but no one had. That was odd... how could they not have? But then again, he wasn't going to challenge that, either. Actually, it was probably lucky that no one had noticed.

Slowly Arthur turned back to the ring, running a finger along its flawless surface with a newfound caution. It still seemed to glow slightly, beckoning him to _put me on, put me on..._

Quickly he shook his head and set the book and ring aside, pulling out his unfinished Care of Magical Creatures homework and beginning work on it, just to shove the ring to the back of his mind. But his effort was soon deterred by a certain redheaded best friend, who flopped onto the couch next to him and teasingly plopped his chin onto Arthur's shoulder to see what he was doing.

"Where were you this afternoon?" Patrick asked, poking his friend. "Skiving off again?"

Arthur sighed, deciding that it would be useless to lie anyway. "With Gil," he answered, and Patrick just gave him a resigned shake of the head.

"Honestly, mate, you can only skip class so many times before they find out – Wait, what's that?"

His gaze had drifted to a spot over Arthur's shoulder, and he quickly followed it to see that Patrick was staring at the ring, on its perch along with the book and parchment containing the poem.

Thinking fast, he grabbed the ring and poem and stuffed them into the pocket of his robes. "Nothing," Arthur said quickly. "Just an old book I bought in Hogsmeade."

Patrick looked skeptical but let it go. This time.

* * *

><p>Arthur lay in bed that night, fingering the ring and rolling it between his hands. The other boys had been asleep for hours now, but he wasn't even drowsy. He rolled onto his side, wrestling a bit with the covers, and shut his eyes tightly with a determined sigh. Arthur knew he should get some sleep, because honestly, he wouldn't be able to function like normal human being tomorrow if he stayed up all night. Missing sleep was fine for two nights a week with Astronomy, but any more than that was annoyingly crippling.<p>

But still, his mind refused to stop whirring, and all the questions about the jade ring that was now tightly clenched in his fist were still bouncing around like hyperactive children. _Gah_, he thought, twisting onto his stomach and stuffing his face down into the pillow.

It was only a few minutes later that Arthur growled in frustration and sat up to stare out the window, over the moonlit landscape of the Hogwarts grounds. He sighed, looking down at the ring in his palm. It still glowed softly. Inviting him. _Try me on, try me on..._

He slipped the ring onto his finger and settled down under the covers once more, feeling oddly comforted, but the next morning he woke in a cold sweat.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Lol, I just realized how much this seems like a triple crossover between Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and Hetalia... Oh well!**


	5. The Impossible Assignment

**A/N: Yaay! The plot has finally begun, and I have defeated writer's block once and for all! In other words, America is grounded for a week and I finally have personal space again. Papa is reading over my shoulder right now, so-**

**Papa: Honhonhon, is this a fanfiction account that I see?**

**Me: Er, no, papa, it's just-**

**Papa: And look, you're even writing about _mon amour Arthur_ and me! Arthur! Come look at this, _mon cher_!**

**Me: ... **

**Well, I hope you like it! Gotta run, before Dad comes-**

* * *

><p>Chapter Five: The Impossible Assignment<p>

The air was thick and cool, fog curling from the lake like the tentacles of the giant squid, stretching lazily as it awoke. September had snuck by on little cat feet, giving way to the soft chill of October breezes. Winter was on its way, but for now the trees in the forest were brilliant shades of red and yellow, and the air was content to give a mere nip at the nose before moving on, just to remind one of who was the boss.

Arthur smiled, breathing in the scent of damp leaves and fresh, clean mist from the heavy rain last night. He loved fall; especially in the mornings, when the sun was hidden behind a muting blanket of soft gray cloud. It was peaceful, he thought as he strode across the cushy grass to his first hour class. Care of Magical Creatures was always a good way to start off the day, even if he was tired... the past month had been plagued by an unexplainable insomnia for the usually heavy sleeper.

With a small sigh, Arthur wondered what sort of interesting creature their professor would have today, until suddenly he was slammed to the ground by something warm and uncomfortably reminiscent of another human body.

"Oh, _merde_!"

Francis.

Wait—_Francis?_

"What the bloody hell are you doing out here?" Arthur demanded loudly, struggling his way out from under the Frenchman's body enough to breathe again. They had landed in a heap of tangled limbs, and Francis shot him an unamused glare from where his torso was currently crushing Arthur's knee.

"I happen to be in first period Care of Magical Creatures," he deadpanned.

"Wait... You are?" Arthur asked, completely thrown. The frog wasn't in any of his morning classes!

"Dropped Arithmancy," Francis amended, noticing the Brit's confusion as they fought to extricate their legs from one another. Finally they fell apart with relieved sighs, and lay there in the damp grass for a moment, regaining their breath.

"And _why_ did you just molest me?" Arthur's usual wrath was back, in all its British glory. Francis sighed, running a hand through his wavy hair and glaring at his frenemy.

"The ground is slick," he answered smoothly, matching the wrath with an equally cool tone. "And I'm clumsy."

Arthur snorted derisively, getting to his feet. "Not what I've seen," he muttered, still halfheartedly determined to keep up their bickering, though it had suddenly turned friendly. Francis hopped up gracefully, completely disproving his own point, and grabbed both their bags from where they'd fallen on the lawn. Instead of handing Arthur's to him, though, Francis shouldered his own and then fell into step beside the Brit, carrying Arthur's bag over the other shoulder.

It took a second for Arthur to notice this, but the look that flashed across his face for the split second when he _did_ was absolutely priceless. "Wh- _Francis!_" He whined, quickly snatching his bag from the other boy's grasp. "Do you _delight _in making me feel like a girl?"

Francis smirked wickedly. "_Oui_."

Arthur scoffed and crossed his arms in a huff. "Well, I hate you too," he retorted.

They bickered happily all the way down to where the Care of Magical Creatures classroom was located, just inside the trees of the forest. It wasn't even a classroom, but Arthur didn't know what else to call it, honestly, so he just called it a classroom.

A large clearing parted the thick grove of trees and underbrush, sweeping open into a beautiful place lit by the morning beams of sunlight peeking timidly through the blanket of clouds. They were like spotlights, illuminating the tiny white flowers that grew amid a thick, soft blanket of clover, and glimmering on every tiny dewdrop to transform it into a tiny star.

They did the same magic on Arthur's eyes.

"_Magnifique..._" Francis murmured in awe, taking it all in. He set his bag down in the cloak of clover, sitting beside it contentedly and gently picking one of the tiny white flowers in front of him. He marveled at its delicate creamy petals for a moment, before picking them off, one by one.

"What're you doing, frog?"

Arthur's voice cut into Francis' thoughts, and he smiled, shooting the other boy a cheeky look as he let the empty flower stem fall to the ground.

"She loves me," he smirked.

Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes and plopping down on one of the stumps they used as chairs and occasionally desks. "Is that _all _you bloody frogs think about? _Love?_"

Francis suppressed a childish grin as he looked down at the flower's slim green stem lying amongst the clover.

"_Oui_."

* * *

><p>The day slipped by uneventfully, aside from the what-the-bloody-hell-is-that-<em>FROG<em>-doing-here attack that Arthur had when he learned that Francis had not only been moved into his Care of Magical Creatures class, but _also _his second hour Transfiguration. It would've been good that Gilbert was also there, except for the fact that he kept laughing at Francis and Arthur's neverending catfight, and of course that just made Arthur angrier.

Now the three boys flopped down in their study period at the end of the day, soon to be joined by a very grumpy Patrick and the eternally cheerful Antonio, whom Arthur didn't know very well but didn't have any issues with either. They exchanged brief glances when, instead of the Potions master, who usually supervised them this hour, Professor Dumbledore walked in and closed the doors behind him. But no one commented on it. Instead, they decided to continue digging in their bags for homework and pay the abnormality no heed.

But today, instead of letting them get out their books and start on their homework assignments like an _ordinary _teacher who _wasn't_ the slightly loony headmaster, Dumbledore cleared his throat for silence. Immediately the room fell quiet as every student's gaze fell upon the headmaster's soft smile and twinkling blue eyes, suddenly raptly interested as he began to speak.

"I know that this is usually your free hour," Dumbledore announced. "But I have an extra assignment to hand out."

He waved his wand and a stack of papers flew to his side, and with another nonchalant wave the papers zoomed away to claim owners; or rather, claim both of their owners. Two names were writing themselves as if from an invisible pen in the top blank, and Arthur groaned when he saw that he was doomed with the _frog_.

Francis, however, smirked in satisfaction and then turned back to the headmaster.

"Your assignment is to write a one-stanza riddle capturing one of the many legends surrounding Hogwarts. It can be from Muggle or Wizard perspective, but it has to rhyme and be exactly four lines. Your riddle is due at the end of this hour. Good luck!"

And with that, he sat back to enjoy the show.

"This is bloody _impossible!_" Arthur burst out, slamming his fist down on the table. "It's not even related to magical learning! It's—"

Before he could further his rant, Francis shoved a hand over the Brit's mouth.

"_Calme_, _mon cher_," he said flatly.

Arthur tried keep ranting, though, so Francis just glared at the other boy until he slowly but surely decided to shut up. Finally Arthur had quit struggling, and Francis was free to speak, but still didn't remove his hand.

"If I take my hand away, will you stay quiet?" Francis demanded.

Arthur groaned through the hand, but grudgingly rolled his eyes and then pried it away from his mouth.

"Fine, you frog," he muttered resentfully, which Francis took as a 'yes'.

"Alright. First off, this is not impossible. Secondly, sorry to burst your bubble, but it _does_ happen to be related to History of Magic. Thirdly, your partner is French. That should be self-explanatory."

Arthur glared. "Of course. I forgot you frogs are obsessed with all things surrounding Valentine's day."

Francis grinned evilly. "Touché, _mon_ faithless Brit."

He turned to the paper and glanced it over approvingly, noting that the directions were written completely in poetry, before looking back over his shoulder at Arthur. His green eyes darkened so nicely when he was angry...

Francis snapped out of it and remembered what he'd been about to ask. "What legend do you want?"

Arthur shrugged moodily. "Your choice."

Francis sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Arthur, you're the one who's lived in England for your whole life. I have only been here for a few months."

This seemed to cut through the huff, and Arthur's ears went slightly pink with sheepishness. "Oh. Er, yes."

Francis just looked on expectantly, watching Arthur quickly regain his wits and dive into thought with a will. He smiled in spite of himself at the Ravenclaw's thinking face; Arthur glared intently at the table, biting his lip until abruptly his head snapped up.

"Why not the legend about the four founders?"

Francis smirked. "Now there's one I actually know."

"I'm leaving the poetry to you, frog," Arthur snapped, sinking back into his previous mood and flopping his head onto his books.

"Fine with me," Francis shrugged, still smirking, and started on the four lines. Arthur lost himself in thought as he listened to the other boy work, occasionally muttering something under his breath to see if it rhymed or swearing in French when it didn't. Apparently Francis was a practiced poet, however, because the swears didn't happen often.

Just as Arthur was beginning to float off into a daydream, Francis sighed in frustration and turned to him. "What rhymes with—"

_Word of sssnake, hidden in linesss_

_ You will never sssave in time..._

"_What?_" Arthur demanded, standing up suddenly. Francis looked completely confused.

"Arthur, I asked what rhymes with _Slytherin_. Arthur?"

"Didn't you hear that?" he asked, sitting back down slowly. "That voice... it was like a snake, only talking..."

Francis patted his shoulder awkwardly. "No... but if it makes you feel any better, I am a parselmouth. Come on, you're just tired."

"Yeah," Arthur muttered, still looking around warily for the source of the voice. "I'm just tired."

* * *

><p>"You're a wuss, you know that?"<p>

"Poetry is a fine art, _mon_ lovely Brit."

"_I'M NOT YOUR LOVELY BRIT!_"

"Then explain why you follow me everywhere."

"_I CAN'T HELP THAT I HAVE MOST OF MY CLASSES WITH A BLOODY DAMNED FROG!_"

Arthur and Francis were arguing again.

"I have a perfectly good poem I could recite right now, off the top of my head," Francis smirked.

"Oh, do tell," Arthur snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes huffily.

Francis cleared his throat, fully aware of the fact that what he was about to do exceeded the standards of 'evil'. He was nearly laughing at the prospect.

"_Roses are red, violets are blue. God made me pretty—what happened to _you_?_"

Arthur was briefly reduced to incoherent sputters of rage that may or may not have been words.

Patrick, Antonio and Gilbert were hanging back, trying desperately not to laugh as the two bickered happily about Francis supposedly being a girl and Arthur having no taste for art whatsoever. Their study hall had finally ended, and of course Dumbledore had just _had _to read their poem out loud to the whole class. Arthur had been ready to die of embarrassment, and as soon as they were out in the hall heading down to dinner, had begun berating Francis as an outlet. Francis, on the other hand, just shot the remarks straight back in his face with seemingly no effort whatsoever, and was absentmindedly examining his fingernails while he let Arthur rant.

Better out than in, his mother had always said.

Actually, for some reason Francis liked to annoy Arthur, and also enjoyed it when the other boy finally snapped and started using him to vent on. Even though they'd only been friends for about a month, Francis knew more about 'his lovely Brit' from the rants than anyone else probably did from knowing him for six years and only having normal conversations.

For example—Francis made a mental listing of the most recent five things he'd learned:

1. Arthur thinks poetry is for Valentine's Day

2. He hates Valentine's Day

3. Tea is like manna from heaven with this idiot (blech!)

4. His favorite color is dark blue

5. He listens to rock music.

Francis smirked in self-satisfaction, tugging himself back to the present and smirking even wider when he realized that Arthur was still ranting on.

"..._and I do not belong to you_,_ so why can't you get that into your thick skull—_"

Francis tuned him out again.

6. Arthur does not like to be told what to do.

Francis continued ignoring him for a few minutes more, humming a random tune under his breath, until suddenly they rounded a corner and found a buzzing crowd of what, at the time, seemed to be every student in the entire school.

"What the..." Even Arthur shut up to wonder at the massive group blocking the hallway, all chattering and shouting excitedly. He stood on his toes, craning his neck to try and see what they were all so thrilled about, swearing under his breath when he was still too short to catch even a glimpse. Francis just looked on with mild amusement.

Arthur turned around to glare at the frog. "You're taller than me," he stated sourly.

"And?" Francis prompted with that perfect silk slithering through his voice once more. In reality he was trying not to laugh.

"Be useful."

"What's the magic word?"

"Gah! _Please_, you stupid bastard!"

Francis smirked, nodding with annoying grace and leaning up to see over the heads of the crowd. It was still hard to get a clear view through the sea of heads, but he caught a sudden glimpse of something that made a wide grin spread across his face. Francis laughed, reading more and covering his mouth with his hand to keep from giggling. Finally! Something he could do!

"Well?" Arthur snapped impatiently, tapping his foot.

Francis laughed again, turning to him with a real smile for once. Not a smirk, not even an evil leer, but a true smile. It made his eyes light up, like the sun was shining from their deep ocean depths, and suddenly the way his light blond waves fell around his face was almost... _handsome._

Wait—_what?_ Arthur shouldn't be even _noticing _his eyes, much less _thinking about _them!

"Quidditch tryouts next Saturday!" Francis was practically _glowing_. "There's open spots on all four teams..." He craned his neck to see more, nearly bouncing when he saw the very position he'd been praying for. "And _Slytherin needs a seeker!_"

Arthur fought the smile forcing its way onto his lips at seeing the normally composed Frenchman like this; he was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet with happiness. Even so, he just rolled his eyes and turned on his heel to keep walking.

"You should try out for the Ravenclaw team," Francis told him seriously, appearing at his side.

Arthur snorted derisively. "Sure. And make a complete fool of myself."

"No, I mean it, Arthur!" Francis persisted, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. "You're light and fast, and you'd be good on a broom. Trust me. I would know."

"And how would _you_ know, frog?"

Francis's voice suddenly turned quiet. "Because I was Captain of the Quidditch team at my old school by second year, and we won the championship for the next four years in a row until I left."

"O-oh," Arthur stuttered after a short silence, noticing the way the other boy looked down sadly as he spoke. Only then did he realize what it must feel like to be miles from home, in a brand new school where nothing is familiar, with brand new people, and to have suddenly stumbled upon the one thing you truly felt like you knew how to do right.

"I... alright. I'll try out," murmured Arthur, before hurrying away toward the Ravenclaw dormitory, to hide that he was blushing furiously.

Francis watched him go.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Phew, they're finally leaving me alone again! Did you like?**

**Before I forget, I need to ask that if there are any French-speaking peoples reading this, I REALLY need to know if there are any issues with my translations. I only know a few French phrases (mostly ones from Papa that may or may not be fanfic-appropriate...), so I've been using Google Translate and have no idea how accurate my current ones are. Thanks!**


	6. Riddles and Roosters

**A/N: I. Love. You. Guys.**

**When the quietest person in the house suddenly explodes in a shriek of excitement loud enough to crack the ceiling, you know that something must've happened.**

**Sixteen review alerts. **

**Sixteen of them.**

**Overnight.**

_**I love you guys!**_

* * *

><p>Chapter Six: Riddles and Roosters<p>

It rained all morning.

While a chilly downpour drilled away at the roof of the castle, Arthur sat warm and dry in the Ravenclaw common room, rolling the ring between his fingers. It still gave off that enchanting glow; _touch me, touch me..._

Arthur hated rain. He'd lived with it for his whole life, but when all was said and done, living with something really didn't make you like it any better. On top of it all, the Quidditch field would be turned to slushy muck in no time, if the clouds kept berating the ground with this onslaught of sheer water. He sighed and let his head fall back to rest against the cool window behind him. What was it like to live in France? Did it constantly rain there too?

He'd been purposely avoiding Francis since last Friday, when he'd embarrassed himself completely and utterly by agreeing to try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. He didn't even know what had happened, really; all he knew was that he'd been thinking about that frog's _eyes_, of all the damned things, and the next minute he'd told Francis that he would try out. What had gotten into him these days? Arthur shook his head at his own stupidity.

Checking his watch, he realized that it was almost time to get down to tryouts, and shivered in dread as he left the common room, slipping the ring back onto his finger for luck. But just as he stepped out into the corridor, he stopped dead in his tracks.

_Everything fallssss into placce_

_ You will welcome death'sss embracccce_

"_What?_"

Arthur was shivering still, only now it was not from dread of the rain outside. The corridor was long, and wide, and _completely empty_.

So who was speaking?

"Arthur? _Mon ami_, Arthur?"

A smooth French accent yanked him back to reality, and he suddenly looked up to see Francis walking down the hall toward him, broom in hand, splattered with mud and dripping wet. Wait—had the Slytherin tryouts already happened, or...

Arthur shook his head, suddenly feeling foggy and sluggish, like he was just now waking up. Francis came up next to him, looking a bit concerned.

"Are you alright?" he asked, brushing his wet hair out of his face. "I thought you were coming to tryouts..."

Arthur looked around, suddenly realizing that none of the pictures on the wall in front of him were the same, and whirled around only to find that the door to the Ravenclaw common room was not there. He dropped his face into his hands, trying to remember.

"Arthur?" Francis asked gently, placing a warm hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. Arthur shook his head, then looked up at him with confusion.

"Where are we?" he asked. Now Francis was really starting to worry.

"We're down near the dungeons, just outside the Slytherin common room," he answered slowly, wondering how Arthur could have possibly gotten lost this easily. Arthur shook his head, trying to remember how he'd gotten from the Ravenclaw corridor all the way down to Slytherin common room in a heartbeat and not even known it, but then he checked his watch.

5:41 PM.

Not ten seconds ago, he could've sworn it was only nine in the morning.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Francis asked, not realizing he was biting his lip. Arthur nodded shakily.

"Y-yeah, my watch just must be wrong..."

Francis looked over his shoulder and decided not to comment on the fact that it wasn't. Something was seriously wrong here. He gently took Arthur's hand before he realized what he was doing and then let go of it again, blushing lightly as he spoke.

"Come with me," Francis murmured, thinking quickly. He didn't want to leave the Brit here by himself; he was certainly acting strange. "I need to get cleaned up, and it's not long until dinner anyway."

"F-fine," Arthur agreed in a small voice completely unfamiliar to Francis, before he seemed to drag himself out of whatever scared trance he was in and the familiar smirk returned. "Filch'll have a fit if he sees that _you're _the one tracking the mud all over."

"That is true," Francis grinned at seeing his old frenemy back, and the pair turned to continue toward the Slytherin common room.

* * *

><p>"Where've you been, mate?"<p>

Patrick's exasperated voice greeted Arthur as he strode into the Great Hall a few minutes later, Francis at his side. The Slytherin winked evilly before walking off to join Gil and Antonio at his table, and Arthur scowled at him before continuing on his way to sit next to his fellow Ravenclaw.

"I..." _don't know_, Arthur wanted to say, but he held back, mind racing to find a quick and believable excuse. "I was studying in the library, and I fell asleep. Lost track of time."

Patrick snorted. "Lost track of time? My arse! You _lost track of _nearly nine hours today?"

"I-I guess," Arthur muttered, a terrible feeling twisting his gut. It wasn't dread, nor guilt. He wasn't sure what it was, to be honest; all he knew was that it was horrible and he wanted to get away from it.

Patrick's gaze softened at seeing his friend so cornered and scared-looking all of a sudden, but at that very moment the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Filch, the caretaker, was wheezing in, running as fast as he possibly could. He stumbled to a halt just inside the doors, still gasping painfully.

"Dead pile-" he yelled, between pants. "Of roosters- in the dungeon-"

Arthur's blood ran cold.

He should know something about this. Shouldn't he? He felt like he should _remember_, but he was only grasping desperately at loose threads. The room around him was in chaos, all the students yelling and jumping up from the tables in a panic while he sat trying to figure things out. Arthur was one of the only people to have not leapt to his feet when Dumbledore set off a gunshot with his wand to call for order. An unnatural silence fell, broken only by the echoey sound of their headmaster's voice.

"Prefects, if you would escort your houses back to their dormitories, teachers will come with me to the dungeon."

He didn't even have to say anything more. In little more than an instant, everyone had been rounded up into four uneven lines and they were all being led toward their respective common rooms; the Slytherin students curled down into the deeps of the school, while Gryffindor house was being herded up a staircase opposite of the one that the Ravenclaws were climbing now. Arthur caught a glimpse of Matthew through the chaos. The quiet fourth year looked a bit scared at all this noise, hugging himself closely, while Alfred was clearly not helping by jabbering excitedly to him. Mattie managed to lock eyes with Arthur for a moment, and shot him a look that plainly pleaded '_save me!_'.

Arthur wished he could, but was only able to manage a small smile of reassurance before the staircase turned a jagged corner and he was swept from sight.

They continued without stopping once until the entire Ravenclaw house was corralled in the common room, which of course was even more chaotic and noisy than the explosion of the Great Hall had been. Arthur escaped up to his dormitory, where he stripped down to his boxers and a baggy T-shirt and collapsed into bed.

He was too exhausted to even think anymore, and was quickly dragged down into a fitful sleep plagued by mysterious riddles and blood-soaked rooster feathers.

* * *

><p>Patrick rolled out of bed the next morning, fairly late since it was Sunday. He grinned as he looked out the window to see that the October sun had emerged at long last, hastily pulling on his robes to grab some breakfast and then head for the lake. But he paused as the twisted sheets of Arthur's bed caught his eye.<p>

His friend was still asleep, occasionally twitching or moving restlessly with whatever dream he was having. Patrick sighed, walking over to watch the boy toss and turn for a moment and remembering yesterday. He'd never seen Arthur act so... Un-Arthurish before. It had scared him a bit more than he wanted to admit.

Well, there was only one thing to do. Patrick grabbed his wand and left the room with a silent air of resolve to get to the bottom of all this, and an agreement with himself to let Arthur rest for as long as he needed it.

Patrick trotted from the common room down the steps, nearly slamming head-on into Gil as he rounded a corner and was just barely able to skid to a halt before the moment of impact.

"Hey!" he laughed, shaking his head. "You're going to kill someone, one of these days!"

Gil gave that cocky grin. "I aim to please, Patrick. So, what has you out on this fine day?"

"Food," Patrick answered simply as they entered the Great Hall.

There was hardly anyone still eating this late, and rather than heading for the Ravenclaw table as he usually would've, Patrick followed Gilbert over to flop next to Francis and across from Tonio.

"_Bonjour_," Francis greeted with a smile. "This is a pleasant surprise."

Patrick shrugged. "I wanted to ask if you have any idea where Artie disappeared to for nine hours yesterday."

Francis's fork fell with a clatter. "He was gone for _that long?_"

Patrick just nodded. "I was looking all over for him. Saw him leave the common room, and then he was just... gone."

Francis pushed his plate away, standing up. "We'll discuss this on the lake."

* * *

><p>"No signs of him?"<p>

"None. Not even a trace."

They were walking along the banks of the black lake, the branches of the Whomping Willow flowing lazily in the distance. A full hour had gone by, but Francis and Patrick were still thinking in circles as they tried to unravel the mystery of yesterday. Francis sighed, flopping onto the ground in defeat and patting the soft grass next to him.

"I have no idea what could've happened," he concluded as Patrick sat down next to him. "You've known Arthur for five years longer than I have, and if you don't know then we're not going to get anywhere by exhausting ourselves."

"Amen," Patrick muttered, lying back to watch the clouds. It was a moment before Francis joined him, folding his arms behind his head and enjoying the feel of the soft cushion of grass beneath his body.

They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Patrick finally spoke.

"On a completely different subject, I think I should tell you that there's been quite a few rumors floating around. About... you and Arthur."

Francis quirked an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Well," Patrick continued. "It's mostly the girls, but there seem to be quite a few people who think you two are... dating or something."

"Bloody hell," Francis replied, mocking Arthur's British accent. He shot Patrick a smile to show that no harm was done. "It's amazing the theories people come up with," he muttered.

Patrick laughed for a moment, before his air faded back to seriousness. "I don't care if they're true or not, but all I know is that you and Artie seem to hang around each other a lot. You'd better take good care of my best mate, because if you don't you can count on a premature death."

Francis smirked. "I'm not much in the mood to die soon, so I guess I'd better be good to him."

"Thanks," Patrick replied. He actually sounded relieved.

"You really care about him, don't you?" Francis asked.

Patrick nodded. "We might as well be brothers. I know a lot of things about him that he wouldn't've ever told anyone else, and I can judge his reaction to almost any situation."

"_Almost _any situation?" Francis inquired curiously.

"Except for yesterday's."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: No, I haven't been holding out on you; this is the product of yesterday night. I have no idea how I managed to be able to write this much in five short hours, but all I know is that it happened. But as for the next chapter... my brain is fried of ideas. Normal-school activities, anyone? If you've got something other than homework, Quidditch or sneaking out that I could make them do, please leave it in the reviews!**

**Thanks a million from Maple!**


	7. The Color Red

**A/N: FINALLY! I've had this chapter done for an entire sixteen hours now, but when I tried to upload it last night, the login server was down. Sorry it took so much longer to update; most of this except for the first three paragraphs was typed in the 45 free minutes I had yesterday morning...**

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><p>Chapter Seven: The Color Red<p>

There was nothing better than sitting under your favorite tree on a sunny afternoon, quill in hand, and spirits soaring with the mild autumn breeze, Arthur decided as he smoothly trailed the tip of his quill across the paper resting against his knees. He had actually been able to sleep last night, and no more of the odd time-skips had seemed to happen since last Saturday, for which he was immensely grateful. He was actually caught up on homework for once—something that _never_ happened—and things were going well.

Arthur didn't really even regret missing the Quidditch tryouts; he'd mostly said yes because of Francis, not because he actually wanted to get onto the team. He was perfectly content to sit in the stands and cheer for Patrick, one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, and Gil, who played Beater for Slytherin, or even Alfred, who was the Gryffindor Seeker. He was perfectly happy where he was, thank you very much.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the grass made him look up just in time to see the frog sit down next to him, setting his bag on the ground beside them both.

"Astronomy tonight," Francis reminded him, settling against the rough tree trunk. Arthur let out an annoyed hiss of air through his nose, though secretly he was grateful, and settled for sketching another intricate, feathery detail on his unicorn drawing.

"I know," he grumbled, not looking up. Arthur was uncomfortably aware of the Frenchman looking over his shoulder, watching as he added another flowing hair to the tail. This unicorn wasn't the kind you saw in picture books for young children, though—it was far from fairytale perfection.

In the foreground stood the unicorn, fierce and tall, silvery mane and tail flowing under the moon. But the empty sockets where its eyes should have been were voids of shadow, and there was blood of battle flung over its snowy white coat. Arthur felt Francis's warm breath ghost over his ear and flinched away.

"Why do you not ever color your drawings?" the frog asked thoughtfully. "It would make them look much better, _mon cher_."

Arthur shot him a scathing glare, but it dissolved into a smile after a second of stony anger. His eyes shimmered so nicely when he smiled, Francis thought absentmindedly.

"Well, if you color it wrong, then it just ruins the whole thing,"Arthur explained, turning back to his paper and regarding it carefully. "It's more of a risk than a reward, honestly. _Although..._" he trailed off, biting his lip like he always did when deep in thought and then sighing and shaking his head. "If I had some colored pencils, I would color the blood spots red and leave the rest as just ink. You can never go wrong with the color red."

"Why?" Francis asked simply, interested.

"Well," Arthur began, with uncharacteristic patience for someone like him. "It accents things. Makes them stand out from the rest. And I also just like red."

"As much as royal blue?" Francis inquired innocently.

It took a minute for Arthur to realize that Francis had just named his favorite color and he'd never told the frog anything of the sort.

"Well, not as much as... w-wait, how do you know that?"

Francis smirked. "Observation," he replied vaguely, before leaning back against the tree. "I can learn a lot from you when you're angry."

Arthur looked at him oddly for a moment, then stood up. "Alright, that's just... strange. I have a stalker," he added, only half joking. "I'll just... be going now."

And with that, he grabbed his books and headed up to the castle.

Francis smirked at his retreating back. Now he had the tree all to himself.

It was a few minutes before he realized that Arthur had accidentally left his drawing behind. Francis was curious, picking it up and looking it over for a minute. It was so detailed, so _perfect _that it could've been a Muggle photograph. How did Arthur _do _that?

Finally he sighed and climbed to his feet, knowing he should take the drawing back to him. And plus, the girl he'd been using for a good snog last week was coming directly this way. He grabbed his books and departed at the most un-hurried run he could muster.

The lawn was gently sloping, the breeze now turned cool, and Francis pulled his robes a little closer around him. He wasn't really one to dislike any particular season, but then again, spring was the only one he really, truly loved. Because it was warm. Not too hot, not too cold, just warm.

Finally reaching the wide-open castle doors, and having no more of the girl on his tail, he slowed his pace and strode through the high arch into the castle. Even the air in here smelled of fresh, crisp rain; they must have either charmed in somehow or had all of the windows wide open last night. He kept walking.

Now, _where would Arthur have gone..._?

Merde. Hadn't thought of that.

Francis licked his lips involuntarily, pausing to follow his imaginary Brit through the halls of the castle, tailing after him to where he might have gone.

Library, he decided as he watched Mental Arthur take a seat by the wide-open window and smirk as he looked down onto the lawn to see that Francis was no longer under the tree.

He started off for Arthur's beloved book sanctuary, the drawing clutched in his hand.

* * *

><p>It was a much less confident Francis that dashed up to a fivesome consisting of Alfred, Matthew, Gilbert, Patrick and Tonio two hours later.<p>

"Gil!" he panted, a note of relief in his voice as he stood there, the drawing long forgotten in his common room. There were more important issues at hand. "I can't find Arthur anywhere!"

Gilbert looked up, crimson eyes suddenly turned dark with an intensity that only happened when something either struck a nerve or scared him. "_What?_" he demanded. It was more of a statement than a question.

"I even checked the Ravenclaw common room," Francis said, breathing more evenly now. "He's gone."

"He might've gone to Hogsmeade," Matthew suggested, though even he didn't sound thoroughly convinced.

Gil's face darkened. "Somehow I doubt it," he muttered ominously, before leaping up to join Francis. He turned to the group. "Stay here," he ordered. "We don't need anyone else vanishing off the face of the Earth while we're gone."

Normally it would have been funny, but no one laughed.

Gil and Francis turned to run off in the direction Francis had come.

* * *

><p>Water.<p>

Cold, silky water.

The glowing, dancing spots finally cleared, and Arthur was staring down at his reflection in the water on the floor, trickling down the stairs beneath his feet. His body ached as though he had been running for miles, and he could feel bruises pounded into his left hip and shoulder. They throbbed dully.

Where was he?

He had no memory of coming here, and no memory of how much time had passed. The last thing he could bring to mind was getting up to leave from under the tree, and as soon as he strode through the castle doors... nothing. No blackout, no injury, no _nothing_. It was scarier than knowing he'd been brutally murdered and was actually one of the ghosts now.

He was shaking now, the beginnings of panic threatening to engulf him as he stood there on the staircase with water trickling down its steps, in the complete darkness of the empty, echoey school. Where had he been? He frantically tried to remember, knuckles turning white as he clutched the railing beside him for balance. Where had he been, where had he been where had he been—

_BANG._

The sound of a door slamming brought a horrifying flash of something to his mind; something he didn't want to remember, that made him feel sick and nauseated. It made no sense, but now he wanted to throw up. There was something horrible behind all this, he just knew it.

Suddenly he was terrified.

Arthur had no idea where he was in the school, but now faces were gaping at him from the shadows, invisible hands tugging at his hair and face and robes.

_Come to us_, they murmured in singsong voices like nails on a chalkboard. _Come to us, little one..._

Arthur bit his lip to keep from screaming and bolted. He bolted like a rabbit; down, down, down the staircase, turn the corner and take another one...

He didn't know where his legs were taking him, but all he knew was that a few minutes later he was huddled under the sheets in his dormitory, glassy tears of complete terror sliding down his pale cheeks. Arthur curled up tighter, a quiet sob escaping him, and he did something he'd never done before.

He prayed.

The hours dragged by, Arthur quivering like a small child afraid of the dark, and he was thankful that the next day was Saturday when he saw rays of clear autumn sunlight streaming through the window to warm his covers. He didn't move, didn't even uncurl, just let the exhaustion flow over him like a cloak and drag him down to sleep.

* * *

><p>When his green eyes finally opened Arthur didn't know what time it was, and he didn't want to check his watch to find out. All he knew was that it was probably sometime around ten. He crawled out of bed and trudged down to the Great Hall to get something to eat.<p>

No whispers followed him, no accusing stares, but even so he ate as quickly as he could to get away from the other late-risers. Suddenly they made him uncomfortable. And besides, he wasn't really hungry anyway.

He hurried back up to the empty common room, glad for his solitude. Everyone else was out on the lawn, enjoying the last couple weeks of fall before the November rains came, but he didn't feel like it. Normally he would have been out and about too, but not today. He sat down on one of the couches and took out his homework.

"There you are, _mon ami_."

A soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, the smooth French accent seeming warmer and more gentle than it normally would have. Francis's blue eyes locked with his green ones, and immediately he knew something was wrong with Arthur. He had the look of someone who has been scared near the point of trauma, very recently. Was that what could've been happening yesterday?

"What happened?" Francis asked, moving to sit down next to him. He almost wanted to place a hand on the Brit's smooth back, but knew Arthur would only jump away.

"H-How did you get into our common room, frog?" Arthur spat.

Francis smirked. "Ravenclaws aren't the only smart people in the world, Arthur."

He sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to the homework with a new resolve to ignore the frog for as long as was necessary, but unfortunately the frog didn't _want _to be ignored.

"I want to know why you're skipping classes," Francis said seriously.

That shocked Arthur back out of his steadfast concentration on the Potions book in front of him. "You- wait, what? I'm not skipping classes!"

Good, he'd gotten a reaction at least, albeit a confusing one. Francis sighed. "Arthur. You're disappearing for whole chunks of the day. Last week you vanished for nine hours, and yesterday you were gone for five. You missed tryouts, and now you're skipping Astronomy, too."

"I-I'm not skipping classes," Arthur replied confusedly, now putting aside his homework.

Francis shook his head. "Why won't you tell me?" he whispered.

"Because there's nothing to tell!" Arthur huffed angrily, before pointedly going back to his homework and not looking at Francis at all. For a few minutes they sat like that, the Frenchman watching him work, and Arthur completely ignoring the boy next to him until Francis brought out the unicorn drawing from his pocket, unfolding the neat square of parchment.

"You left this with me yesterday," he said quietly. He slipped it over Arthur's Potions book and the Brit paused, sighing shakily and looking up.

"Thanks," he replied in a small voice completely unlike the Arthur that Francis knew. It reflected the scared-rabbit look in those green eyes. Francis looked at him with concern, but then Arthur quickly turned back to the Potions book, as though to avoid saying anything he didn't want to tell. Francis's hands longed to reach out and touch Arthur's knee, his cheek,_ anything_, but he held them back.

"Well, even if you won't tell me, I'm going to try and help," he murmured, more to himself than to Arthur, before getting up off the couch. Arthur inwardly sighed in relief. Maybe, with any luck, the frog was g—

He felt something ghost over his shoulders and quickly flinched away. "_What are you doing, frog?_" he demanded harshly.

"Just relax, _mon cher_," was the only reply that Francis would give.

"...Frog?"

Warm hands came to rest near his neck, and Arthur cringed under the skilled touch that was gently rubbing out all the knots in his shoulders.

"_Calme_," Francis's voice murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you, Arthur..."

Slowly he began to calm down, cautiously leaning back on the couch and setting his homework aside. Francis moved farther out on his shoulders, gently working the muscles until they relaxed, and finally Arthur sighed, shutting his eyes.

"You never cease to confuse me," he muttered under his breath. Francis just smiled.

As Francis massaged his shoulders into submission, Arthur's mind drifted. Before he could stop it or turn it in a different direction, it had strayed to the happenings of last night. Suddenly he didn't feel so terrified anymore; only a little fear remained, mostly replaced with confusion. Wasn't there anything else? He wracked his brains to remember something, _anything_, any tiny clue that could have scared him into bolting as he had. But there was none. He finally had to settle on the fact that there was only one thing he could bring to mind, and there was a lot of it.

All he remembered was the color red.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, do you like? I love writing for these two, they're just adorable. And if all goes as planned, the next chapter should include Quidditch, Gilbird, and possibly drunk America. Stay tuned! ;)**


	8. Big Boys Do Cry

**A/N: Well, um, this one didn't turn out as good as I wanted it to. I've set a six-page limit on my word processor, because God knows how we all hate a huge chapters that can't be read in one sitting, and this... well, I just don't like it. It broke too many promises that I put down in last chapter. I'm sorry!**

**But at least it's fluffy... Will the fluff fix things for you?**

* * *

><p>Chapter Eight: Big Boys Do Cry<p>

The Great Hall was bursting with the noise of four houses' worth of students, all arguing and laughing and shouting about the first Quidditch match of the year, happening this morning; not only was the excitement because of the match, however. It was also because today happened to be Halloween, and the prospect of a major sugar high at the feast tonight was imminent.

Arthur and Patrick were sitting at the Ravenclaw table, watching all the others make bets and exchange money on who was going to win. Practically everyone thought Gryffindor would emerge victorious, but the two friends wasn't so sure. The Gryffindors most definitely wouldn't be winning if Francis was as good as the Slytherin house all thought he was.

Quite frankly, Arthur didn't care who won. As long as there was a party with plenty of alcohol afterward, he was satisfied.

"HEY, GUYS!"

Arthur and Patrick both jumped, twisting around to see Alfred shoving his head into their conversation. His dark blue eyes sparked with excitement, just like those of the group following him around, some wearing Quidditch robes and some in just normal school clothes. All were extremely hyper. Matthew stood a little behind them, looking a bit uncomfortable, and Arthur shot him a smile that very clearly stated '_I feel your pain_'. Unfortunately, Alfred was too busy being obnoxious to notice. Mattie smiled.

"Y'ALL READY FOR THE MATCH?" Alfred called to the whole Ravenclaw table, getting a roar of approval in response. Arthur just sighed irritably and turned to the fourth year.

"Yes, Alfred, I'm coming to the game. I know that's what you came over to ask me about. Rest assured," he said dryly.

Alfred shrugged, not having even really heard a word he just said. "Sure! Hey, RAVENCLAW!"

He went back to rallying the already-overexcited students, and Arthur slammed his face into the table. Patrick just watched in amusement, choking down a laugh, which, unfortunately, Arthur heard anyway.

"Oh, shut up," he snapped, not even taking his face out of the table to smack his friend upside the head. Now Patrick really laughed, dodging another swat from the Brit and grabbing the arm mid-swing, just for the hell of it. Arthur growled as he finally took his face out of the table, only to be yanked to his feet by a rather obnoxious Gil. Arthur wondered briefly if his friend was high.

"ARTIE!" screeched Gil, picking him up bridal-style and swinging him around in a dangerous circle. "I SHALL RULE THIS PITCH! I SHALL SINGLEHANDEDLY DEFEAT THE EVIL RED OF GRYFFINDOR!"

"Uh— Gil, that's great and all, but could you please put me—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before another set of arms slid under him and pulled him gently from Gilbert's clutches. And seeing as Gilbert was one of the strongest kids in the entire school, that was saying something.

Whoever had just rescued him seemed sane enough, so Arthur put one arm around their neck, sitting up a little in their hold as he watched his crazed friend stumble away back toward his Slytherin teammates. But he was comfortable, so he settled back into their embrace a bit, looping both his arms around the rescuer's neck.

A wolf whistle and two screeches of utter ecstasy came from somewhere behind Arthur, but he paid no attention to it. Some couple must have decided to put on a snogging display. Gil was the more important matter at hand.

"He seems drunk," Arthur said simply.

"He is," answered a French accent from slightly above him. "Apparently he always flies drunk."

That was when Arthur actually bothered to _look at_ his savior.

Francis was staring after Gilbert with a pensive look on his face, blond waves tied back in a loose ponytail to keep them out of his face during the game. His blue eyes were shimmering. Was that _gold_ Arthur saw in them, or was it gray? Or maybe green? He could even swear he saw a flash of purple, like Matthew's, lurking among the blue.

Arthur suddenly realized he was staring and cleared his throat awkwardly. Francis's arms were still warm around him, but he snapped himself out of it, withdrawing his arms from around the other's neck.

"Frog. Can you...?" he stammered awkwardly.

Francis blinked, then seemed to realize that he was still holding the other boy and nodded.

"_Oui_, of course," he murmured, before gracefully setting Arthur back on his feet. More ecstatic squealing from over Arthur's shoulder finally made him turn around to see what the _devil _was going on, only to find that practically every girl sitting at the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables behind them was either giggling hysterically, completely red in the face to the point of fainting, or screeching at the top of their lungs. One of them was lowering a camera. Shit.

Some of the guys were even wolf-whistling, and Patrick was simply beaming at his two friends as though they'd just announced their marriage. Arthur blushed a deep scarlet, stepping as far away from Francis as he dared, lest Gil come back to molest him again. His face was burning from embarrassment, and he hid it in his hands.

"Um, I need to get back to the team," Francis finally broke the awkward silence. He had a sudden and rather disturbing urge to place a kiss on Arthur's forehead, but he restrained himself and finally turned away from the other boy to walk back to the Slytherin table.

Arthur stood for a moment, before his senses came back and he quickly took his seat next to Patrick, still blushing furiously.

_What the bloody hell had just happened?_

* * *

><p>"ANOTHER TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR! THEY LEAD SLYTHERIN 130 TO 50!"<p>

Arthur didn't know why, but today he was cheering for Slytherin. So, naturally, the score was not good news to his ears.

He was on his feet, intense emerald gaze locked onto the Slytherin players. Gil's drunken flying was actually seeming to work in the team's favor; he was streaking down the field like a green bolt of lightning, ready to erupt into a burst of thundering fury and put the Quaffle through one of those goal hoops if it _killed _him. Meanwhile, the Beaters were playing hard, and the Keeper was trying his best, but somehow Gryffindor had managed to pull ahead. No doubt it was thanks to Alfred's infectious excitement.

"Damn hero," Arthur muttered under his breath.

He scanned the field, suddenly spotting Francis hovering above the action, head twitching back and forth as he searched for the Snitch with blue hawk's eyes. He was poised on the broom to go shooting off at any minute. Arthur tensed with him, wanting to scream at him to _get the damned thing_, but he stayed silent.

It was a heart-pounding moment later before Francis suddenly went streaking off toward the ground, diving straight for the wet grass. He was nothing more than a green blur, but Arthur knew he'd spotted the Snitch. Biting his tongue now, he stayed quiet but was bouncing feverishly on the balls of his feet. Come on, he had to get the thing—

Suddenly Alfred was hot on his tail.

Arthur swore aloud, watching the two battle for speed. "_Go, Francis, go, go go!_" he hissed under his breath, fists clenched around the railing. "_Come on, you arse! Play!_"

Behind him, Matthew and Patrick were smiling slyly and making bets on something he didn't really want to know about at this point.

"COME ON, YOU FROG!" Arthur finally yelled at Francis, who was slowly falling back, but it definitely wasn't for lack of effort. "_CATCH THE BLOODY BALL!_"

In a split second, Francis whipped his head around to look at him, and their eyes met. That seemed to be the only encouragement he needed. As soon as the contact broke, Francis slammed Alfred from the side, making the Gryffindor Seeker swerve just enough to reach out and—

_MISS! ALFRED HAD MISSED THE SNITCH!_

Arthur's lip was bleeding from him biting it with the tension, but he leapt up and cheered when Francis's fingers finally closed around the tiny golden ball, trapping it in his fist. Slytherin had won the game.

Arthur rushed down onto the field with the rest of the crowd, immediately searching for Francis, only to find him surrounded by a swarm of the other students with the Snitch held high over his head. He butted through their ranks, and before he could stop himself, he'd thrown his arms around the other boy's neck. Francis was laughing.

"You did it!" Arthur laughed with him, not even protesting as Francis hugged him so hard his feet lifted off the ground. "You did it, you damned frog!"

Francis finally stopped laughing and just hugged him tight with those blue eyes closed peacefully, but by this point, Arthur's joyful delirium was clearing. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Erm, frog, can you let go of me?" he managed, withdrawing his side of the hug.

Francis's eyes shot open, and Arthur could've sworn he saw a light blush dusting the other boy's cheeks. "Oh, sure," he muttered, reluctantly letting Arthur regain his personal space.

Arthur almost felt bad for a moment, seeing the disappointed look on Francis's face. He wondered if all French people were as touchy-feely as Francis happened to be.

But then the blue eyes brightened, and Francis's grin returned. "There's a party in the Room of Requirement, and as of now, you're officially invited!"

Arthur grinned too, not even noticing that the other boy had taken his hand as they headed back up to the castle.

* * *

><p>Francis stumbled out into the hall, laughing as the more-than-slightly-tipsy Gil and Gilbird shoved him playfully, but it quickly ceased to be replaced with a look of bemused concern. What was that sound...? It flitted around in the darkness like a bird losing its way, fading into the shadows and then shyly moving again just when he thought it was gone. The doors to the Room of Requirement swung closed behind him, but he was a statue, ears pricking up as they tried to locate where the faint, ghostly echo was coming from. It sounded like a boy. And he was crying.<p>

He looked around for a moment, then finally decided to turn left. Starting down the staircase, Francis moved like a ghost through the dappled moonlight and shadows, the echoes of his quiet footsteps mingling with the faint sobs. He paused on the landing, listening again, and took another turn to the left.

Slowly the sounds grew closer, leading Francis down a long, deserted corridor, and huddled in the shadows was a figure, leaning against the wall with his knees pulled against his chest. Suddenly the sight made him feel a little scared, now that he knew whose crying he'd heard all this time. Wasn't he supposed to have been at the party? They'd even walked in together. He got to his knees next to the boy, wanting to do _something _but not quite sure of what.

"Arthur?" Francis whispered.

Green eyes met blue, shining with tears. Francis reached out to brush a stray hair away from Arthur's face. His dewy eyelashes were soaked, darkened and glistening with water. It streaked his cheeks as he looked up at Francis.

"What happened, _mon ami_?" Francis breathed, the concerned whisper ghosting over Arthur's face. He choked down another sob, shaking his head helplessly. More hot tears spilled down his cheeks.

"I-I don't kn-know," Arthur managed to force out, voice cracking as he curled up tighter into his ball. "I-I can't r-remember anyth-thing-"

"_Shhhhhh..._" Francis breathed soothingly, letting it flow around them like a soft summer breeze. He reached out to slide an arm around the other boy's shoulders, gently rubbing his back as his body shook with sobs. Arthur was quivering like a traumatized rabbit. That same wide look of panic shone in his green eyes.

Slowly the sobs began to lessen, the breathing evening out from harsh gasps to soft steadiness. Arthur was slowly calming down. Finally he roughly brushed the tears from his cheeks and let out a long, shaky sigh. He leaned back on Francis's shoulder, exhausted and aching. His chest hurt like he'd been holding his breath for far too long, and his arm had a cut on it that was hidden by the sleeve of his robes.

"I'm sorry, I'm so stupid," Arthur muttered, not meeting the other boy's gaze. "I shouldn't be crying like this!"

Francis shook his head. "Even big boys cry, Arthur," he murmured. "It's better than bottling it all up inside."

"Well, when was the last time _you _cried, then?" Arthur demanded, though it lost some its British impact from the shakiness in his voice.

Francis sighed, looking down at his lap. "Last night. But my sister's been dead for two years now. I still miss her."

Arthur looked like he suddenly didn't know what to say, head snapping up, but slowly he lowered it again with another shaky breath. He relaxed into Francis's shoulder, saying softly, "Well, I guess that big boys do cry."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The ending's still iffy, and well, I... sorry. Yeah. Hopefully the next chapter will be better! **

**Hugs from Maple **


	9. The Top of the Stairs

**A/N: I am a terrible person. Both for taking this long to update and for the killer ending of this chapter. Forgive me, lovely readers. I love you! I really do! I promise I will try to have chapter 10 up sooner than this one was.**

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine: The Top of the Stairs<p>

It was November 13th when Francis noticed the ring.

He and Arthur were walking down to Potions together, arguing as usual, when Francis suddenly stopped dead and grabbed his hand, pulling it close to his face for inspection.

"What is this?" he asked, twisting the ring on Arthur's finger. Arthur just shot him a confused glance and then quickly looked away, down at the floor as though he needed anywhere to stare at but Francis's face.

"Er- just a ring," he said, a little too quickly. Francis nodded suspiciously, still waiting for a better explanation, but Arthur didn't give him one. He realized that he was still holding the Brit's hand after a minute, and quickly let it drop.

They walked the rest of the way to the Potions classroom together, not bickering like usual, but in comfortable silence. They weren't even shooting rude remarks back and forth for once. Quite honestly, it was weird. But then again, thought Francis, also enjoyable.

Francis held open the door, and Arthur walked inside, sitting down at one of the desks in the very back row and glancing back at him over his shoulder with a smirk.

"Why do you do that?" he asked as Francis took the spot next to him. Francis looked at him confusedly.

"Er... _Quoi_?" he replied blankly. Arthur rolled his eyes and leaned over to dig in his bag for his Potions book, muttering under his breath to no one in particular, as he always did when he was looking for something. Francis tried not to focus on the way his slim body turned easily toward the floor, twisting so gracefully, but Francis quickly snapped himself out of it as soon as his mind took that position and put a bed beneath it. He _really _did not need to slip down the gutter right now—

"Every day, you hold open the door for me when we come in here. Why?" Arthur prompted again, pausing his search to look up at Francis expectantly. His green eyes shimmered; gold at the center, deep silver-green at the outside and the color of beautiful, pure emeralds everywhere in between. Suddenly they seemed brighter than usual...

_Dieu_, why the hell was Francis so distracted today? For what he hoped was the last time, he threw himself none too gently back into the present and remembered what he'd just been about to say.

"I guess it's just habit," Francis shrugged. Arthur looked at him with those brilliant green eyes for a moment longer before sighing and turning back to his quest for the Potions book. Francis watched him, again clinging to the edge of the gutter so as not to let himself go _too_ far right here in the classroom—save that for the shower, he thought absentmindedly. But then again, with the way Arthur was so spread out under his gaze, his legs parted around the chair as he bent down toward the floor... he was just _begging _Francis to dive into that gutter and never emerge. And so Francis did. He started pounding Mental Arthur into the floor.

"_AHA!_"

Francis jumped, jolted out of his fantasy by Real Arthur's cry of victory and saying a quick prayer that he wasn't too obviously flushed. But if the look on Arthur's face was any indication, Francis's plea had fallen to deaf ears.

"Y-you're undressing me with your fucking _eyes_, you bloody _frog!_" Arthur spluttered, torn between indignation and horror.

_You have no idea_, replied Francis's dirty mind with a smirk. All it had heard of that sentence was the word _fucking._ Meanwhile, the rational part of Francis tried to calm his blush and quiet his breathing.

Arthur quickly sat upright and scooted away from that perverted _frog_, shooting him glances every once in a while to make sure he wasn't going to suddenly jump over and rape him right there in the classroom. But then again... Arthur bent over his book as the seats around them slowly filled, shaking his head to ward off the sudden and extremely disturbing notion that he might actually enjoy it.

"Arthur?"

Francis's voice made him look up, only to see that suddenly everyone was getting up and leaving again. He felt a little dazed, as though there was something he had missed, and shook his head to try and clear the weird, sluggish sensation. The only other thing he was clearly aware of was the warm, sticky wetness all over his hands and splattered up his arms. But when he looked, nothing was there.

"W-what?" Arthur asked as the last of the other students filed out of the classroom. He felt as though he'd just gotten up out of bed from a very heavy sleep. Francis looked at him with mild concern.

"Are you alright, _cher_?" Francis asked, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and looking into his green eyes, now with true worry. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing, I'm fine," Arthur replied shakily, feeling the fog begin to clear a bit. "Must've dozed off in class..."

Francis looked on but didn't reply as his friend gathered his books, grabbed his bag, and together they headed out the door.

* * *

><p>Arthur's head throbbed.<p>

He was slumped next to Patrick in study hall, Gil and Francis sitting across from him and occasionally muttering to each other as they conspired to make up believable answers on the Herbology assignment handed out last Wednesday. Normally he would have been mocking them on not knowing the real answers in the first place, but at the moment, he was in pain.

It felt as though he'd taken a full-blown bludger to the head, pounding in time with the beat of his heart. The headache had found its way behind his eyes, making him see odd, fuzzy blue-black stars on the edges of his vision and messing up his sense of balance totally. Arthur jammed his thumb into his temple, shutting his eyes against the pressure and closing his book hopelessly. Francis and Patrick looked up at the sudden, un-Arthurish movement.

"You really should go to the hospital wing," Patrick said quietly. "Honestly, mate, if you're feeling this bad..."

Arthur shook his head. "I'd rather not end up imprisoned there for the next three weeks of my life, thanks," he said flatly, before opening his eyes and looking at Patrick honestly. "You know what Madam Pomfrey's like."

Well, Patrick couldn't disagree with that.

Francis reached across the table and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Arthur, you should at least lay down for a while," he murmured, looking into his green eyes to find them dulled. "There's half an hour left before dinner, and McGonagall said we could leave early." He touched the Brit's hand gently. "Come on."

Arthur sighed and nodded, tucking his books back into his bag. Francis couldn't help but notice that he'd seemed a little reluctant to pull his hand away. "Alright, frog," he muttered.

Francis stood up and went to tell Professor McGonagall that they were leaving, and when he returned, Arthur was standing at the end of the table, waiting for him with the familiar smirk in place. Well, some things would never change.

"Thanks," Arthur murmured quietly as Francis joined him. "I-I just... thanks."

"Any time," Francis replied warmly, closing the door to the study room behind them and taking Arthur's bag for him, slinging it onto his own shoulder instead.

"Hey, wait, Francis—you don't have to—"

Francis cut him off. "You've got a headache, your balance doesn't appear to be the greatest right now, and the bag would make it worse. The last thing I want is for you to fall down the stairs and break your neck."

Arthur smiled a little, nodding resignedly. "True enough," he muttered as they started on the next set of stairs, and he held onto the rail 'just in case'. The truth was that_ he_ honestly didn't want him to fall and break his neck, either. After that, neither Francis nor Arthur spoke much; they just kept walking in comfortable, companionable silence for the second time that day. Even though it was odd, somehow this also seemed so... nice. It felt better than either would've expected. As much as Arthur hated to admit it, it did feel good to not be snapping at the frog for once.

And for some reason, he'd also forgotten to call Francis 'frog' a few minutes ago. He blamed the headache.

They reached the Ravenclaw common room, and Arthur eased himself down on the couch with a heavy sigh. He closed his green eyes, wishing that the pounding headache would all just go away. But then again, he could never be that lucky.

Francis set down their bags and quietly moved behind Arthur, placing his hands on the Brit's shoulders and rubbing experimentally. When Arthur didn't protest, Francis began pushing his fingers deeper, only then feeling how tense the other boy really was.

He sighed, shaking his head. "You shouldn't let your muscles knot up like this, _mon cher_," he said quietly, working on a particularly bad spot. "It's not healthy."

Arthur shifted his head slightly on the back of the couch, making a small, incoherent sound in the back of his throat.

"I don't_ ask _for stress," he muttered. Francis smiled.

"No one does," he whispered quietly.

A while later, when Francis was finally done rubbing out all the knots and kinks in Arthur's neck and shoulders, he sat down on the couch next to the Brit. Arthur's eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips. The pain in his head was beginning to relent with its throbbing, now having resigned to becoming a dull ache rather than full-fledged agony.

"Thanks, frog," Arthur murmured, not bothering to open his eyes as he felt Francis settling back into the couch. He could just see the smile on Francis's face.

"You're welcome, _mon ami_," Francis replied. They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply enjoying each other's company, before he spoke again.

"You know, you should come to Quidditch practice tonight," Francis said thoughtfully, almost to himself. "It might do you good to get some fresh air."

Arthur chuckled, cracking open one eye to see the French boy in almost exactly the same position as he was; eyes closed, head resting back on the couch's soft cushions, his hands fallen idle in his lap. Content with the peaceful scene, Arthur shut his eye again and relaxed.

"It probably would do me good," Arthur finally said. "When's your practice?"

"It's from six to eight," Francis muttered. "I'll come get you after dinner."

"I think I'd like that," came Arthur's drowsy reply.

* * *

><p>"We really need to get along more often," Francis laughed as he kicked off from the ground yet again.<p>

"It certainly does make life a bit easier," a grudging Arthur replied, watching his friend speed off and pulling his robes tighter around him, wishing distantly that he'd worn a jacket.

The sun was setting on the Quidditch pitch, a cold November breeze whipping around them and tearing through the trees of the forest with a zeal. It stripped away their brightly colored leaves and sent them swirling through the chill air like brilliant paints across a canvas; winter had staked her claim on the world at long last, and she was bent on clearing the palette for other artists to come.

The other Slytherin players were all changing out for the day, tired and sweaty from a hard-run training session and eager to get out of the biting wind. Not Francis. He was still up and flying with almost as much energy as the cold gusts that had driven the rest of the team indoors, his blond waves fallen out of their low ponytail and robes billowing as he shot forward like a bullet. Arthur couldn't help but marvel at the grace of the Frenchman; he may be a frog (albeit a very steady one) on the ground, but in the sky he was a perfect swan, riding the breeze on snowy-white wings. There was simply no other comparison for it. He moved as the very wind itself.

Arthur looked on as the swan dove into the breeze, swooping upward and turning down just as quickly, only to stop his graceful fall inches from the ground in favor of launching back into the sky again. No wonder Francis had been leader of the team back at his old school, he thought incredulously, as he watched the inhuman grace of his friend's every move. He was too _good_ to be anything besides the Captain!

Francis swerved to the right, shooting back toward Arthur, and then almost immediately turning sideways and coming to a graceful halt. He touched down lightly, smiling a _real _smile for once. Not a smirk, not an evil leer, a _smile._

Arthur smiled too.

"I hate to admit it, but you're extremely good on that thing," Arthur called with a grin as he walked out onto the Quidditch field to meet the frog. Francis grinned back, stepping off his broomstick and running his fingertips lovingly over the worn-but-still-gleaming finish of the handle. Arthur could read the name in golden script: _Nimbus Two Thousand._

"It was a gift from my sister," he murmured. "For my fourteenth birthday. The last thing she ever gave me."

Arthur's smile saddened a bit, and he stepped a little closer to Francis. "I-I'm sorry," he murmured. "About her."

Francis shrugged, though he still looked sad. "It was an accident. We were flying together, and someone thought it would be funny to bewitch the broom she was riding. It bucked her off and her neck snapped when she hit the ground."

Francis took an unsteady breath, and Arthur realized with a jolt that his blue eyes were shining with unshed tears. "She was so happy," he whispered.

His next shaky words knocked Arthur's brain out of action. "_It was my birthday._"

As soon as Arthur managed to recover from the shock of knowing his friend had gone through something so horrible, so devastating on a day that was supposed to be wonderful and happy, he completely abandoned all of his pride and pulled Francis into a tight hug. He felt the Frenchman's body shake a little as he cried quietly.

"I'm so sorry, Francis," Arthur whispered. He could feel his own eyes growing misty as well, but for some reason he didn't fight it.

Francis's arms found their way around him too, clinging to him like he was a lifeline to hope. And again, for some reason, Arthur didn't fight it. He didn't even want to.

For a long time they stayed like that; standing in the middle of the Quidditch field, holding each other close under the sunset. But eventually Francis took a deep breath and let go, not ashamed of the tears streaked down his face. How Arthur wished he could go without that shame.

"_Merci_," Francis laughed weakly. "I needed that."

"Any time," Arthur replied before he could think and decide on a less welcoming response. He pulled away from the hug, and suddenly the coldness of the wind tore through his robes in the same way it was ripping the leaves from the trees. He shivered.

"Are you _cold?_" Francis asked, a hint of amusement sneaking into his voice. Arthur shivered again, slapping his shoulder.

"Oh, s-shut up, frog."

Same old Arthur. Francis smiled at the thought.

"Come on," he told the Brit, who was now hugging himself against the frigid gusts of wind. "I've got a way to warm you up."

Arthur looked at him skeptically. "W-what are you p-planning, frog?" he demanded. Francis just winked, grinning as he leaned in to Arthur's ear.

"_Fly with me_," he breathed.

"What?" Arthur exclaimed. "No! You'll d-dump me off in t-the middle of the f-forest or something c-crazy like t-that!"

Francis wasn't deterred. "_Non_,_ cher_," he murmured. "You know you want to."

"No! F-Francis, I'm n-not flying!"

"_S'il vous plait? _ It will warm you up," Francis smirked, knowing that this was a compelling argument. Arthur glared at him for a moment, then sighed and nodded.

"F-fine," he grumbled. "Just don't k-kill me."

"_Parfait_!" Francis laughed, before climbing onto his _Nimbus Two Thousand _and then gesturing for Arthur to sit in front of him. Gingerly, Arthur slipped his leg over the broomstick and gripped the smooth handle in his fingers, noting that there were dull places from the wear of Francis's hands coming to rest in the same spots his were now. Suddenly he was uncomfortably aware of how the Frenchman's body molded so perfectly against his back. But of course, he tried not to think about that as Francis's arms slid around his waist to rest on the broom handle in front of him.

"Are you ready?" Francis asked. His stomach was doing excited flips at the moment.

"Just _go_," Arthur muttered, gritting his teeth against what was to come.

He felt Francis tense behind him, legs coiling, body tightened and ready to spring, until suddenly he kicked off with a hard jolt and Arthur's stomach decided to leap into his esophagus. The ground fell away with a lurch.

And they were soaring up, up, free with the wind. They shot into the sky, sweeping in a circle and then diving back down until the ground was rushing so fast Arthur could barely see it. He was surprised he was able to keep from screaming at this point. Everything was moving so fast, so furious and blurred that he could barely tell up from down anymore. He clung to the broom, bit his lip, and leaned back into Francis so he would have something to concentrate on _other _than the rushing world below him.

One thing was for sure, Arthur thought as he squeezed his eyes shut tight. He would _never _be doing this again.

* * *

><p>"That warmed you up, <em>non<em>?" Francis asked, restraining a very unmanly giggle as they finally touched back down that night. Arthur, despite his resolute decision to never do this again, had to admit that once he'd gotten over the shock of being airborne in the first place it wasn't really all that bad to fly with the frog. Almost enjoyable, in fact. Almost.

"Nearly broke my neck, too," Arthur grumbled, but he was smiling as he said so. The two boys stood on the lawn for a few minutes, simply relaxing, before Arthur moved to Francis's side and cautiously touched his shoulder. "I-I'm not cold anymore, though," he admitted. Francis grinned and fell into step beside him as they headed back toward the castle.

"I'm glad that helped," Francis murmured. Suddenly he was very aware of Arthur's long, graceful fingers, only inches from his, and felt a strange urge to lace his fingers with Arthur's. What would his hand feel like? The same as the creamy and soft illusion his pale skin gave, or rough from writing and work? Francis thought it would probably be the latter, but then again... maybe not.

He blinked as soon as he realized that his hand was straying toward Arthur's, quickly pulling it back and considering crossing his arms just for good measure. Francis didn't, though. All the same, he didn't need Arthur to immediately stop speaking to him for 'attempted rape'.

"What are you thinking?"

The thoughtful British accent invaded his silence, and Francis looked up only to have his eyes lock with those green ones. Suddenly he realized that their fingers _were _entwined, and once it registered, ran his thumb gently over the back of Arthur's hand. It was soft and cool, pleasant to touch.

"What are you thinking, frog?" Arthur asked again, restraining an odd smile. He couldn't figure out why it was there, as he felt Francis's fingers lightly begin rubbing his hand, almost like an experiment. He'd only given the frog permission to touch because his hands were cold, but here he was, acting like the pair of them were—

"Just that your hands are very slender," Francis replied with a slight smile. "Do you play the piano?"

"Er- no," Arthur replied, rubbing his neck awkwardly with the hand Francis wasn't holding. "I took lessons when I was little, but... they kind of stopped. I didn't like the teacher, anyway. He was too picky."

Francis chuckled. "You have problems with adults, don't you?"

"Only when they try to order me around!" Arthur said defensively, as though this justified all the strife he'd caused his elders. Francis just laughed, though he felt Arthur's now-warm hand slip from his so the Brit could cross his arms in a huff. The Frenchman wanted to reach out and snatch the hand back, but that would only earn him a one-way ticket _outta here. _So he didn't.

They were lucky enough not to encounter anyone on the way up to Ravenclaw Tower, and even though it was far past curfew the castle was still lit with a warm, comfortable glow. Arthur's eyes sparkled beautifully in the low light, shimmering gold and deep sea green. Francis hoped he wasn't staring, but honestly, who wouldn't be?

"Thank you," Arthur murmured when they reached the top of the spiraling staircase that led to Ravenclaw common room. "Th-that was actually kind of fun."

Francis smiled, shaking his head as he stepped onto the landing. "Is your headache gone?"

Arthur grinned back. "Complet-"

His breathing stopped dead, caught mid-word. His green eyes widened to that scared-rabbit look that Francis remembered all too well, locked onto a spot on the wall above the staircase, just behind his shoulder. Arthur tugged weakly at the sleeve of the frog's robes, still rooted desperately to the spot.

"What?" Francis asked worriedly, turning around.

He gasped, covering his mouth with his hands at the sight.

"_Whose is this?_" he whispered in horror.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Lately I have developed a creepy obsession with broken necks. I hope the dirtiness (tee-hee) of this chapter made up for the evil ending. And, just because I think you might be interested, there is a smut scene in the very last chapter that I have been planning since before the story even started. Just a little teaser, there.**

**I LOVE YOU ALL, MY WONDERFUL REVIEWERS! Thanks for reading my nonsense!**


	10. Poems From No One

**A/N: Yaaay! I have (hopefully!) redeemed myself in this chapter. I'm chucking the six-page limit out the window, since my chapters just seem to be getting longer and longer and I CAN'T STOP THEM. Francis and Artie are commandeering my fingers! **

** This chapter is much better than the last, so... enjoy!**

**P.S. If you've just gotten here from the end of the last chapter, please do continue on. But if you've just skipped straight here for any number of reasons,_ YOU MAY WANT TO GO BACK AND RE-READ THE END OF LAST CHAPTER_ to refresh your memory on what's just happened. Thanks!**

* * *

><p>Chapter Ten: Poems from No One<p>

"_Whose is this?_" Francis gasped, covering his mouth in horror. The entire wall was splattered in glistening, dripping scarlet blood. The sight made him want to wretch at the thought of someone painting the stones with the wetness dribbling from their fingers, all down their arms, splattering on their robes...

He shivered, trying to break that train of thought. But that wasn't the worst of it. On the wall were words, finger-painted into the mess. Some of the letters were running, but their message was still clear as day.

_When the clock strikes thirteen_

_ You will hear the broken screams_

_ It's rising from the broken dark_

_ Killing teeth are razor-sharp_

Someone was going to die.

Meanwhile, Arthur still stood petrified, though now his eyes were shut as though he was trying desperately to remember something. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles gone white from the pressure.

"Arthur?" Francis whispered. This silence scared him more than he wanted to admit. Arthur opened his eyes, and thankfully the scared-rabbit look had gone, but only to be replaced by a shakiness that worried him even more. The Brit's green eyes were full of glassy tears, but he took a deep, calming breath and tried to quiet his racing mind. He _knew _he should know the man who'd written that message on the wall. He _knew _he should know whose blood this was. But he didn't, and that was what terrified him.

"We need to tell Professor Dumbledore about this," he said quietly, breathing with forced evenness. "_Now._"

"_Oui_," Francis agreed without a moment's second thought, feeling Arthur grab his hand, and together they tore off toward the Headmaster's office.

* * *

><p>"<em>Professor!<em>"

Dumbledore looked up as suddenly two boys came bursting into his office, flanked by a barely-composed Professor McGonagall. She looked thoroughly shaken, as though she had just fought a dragon and only nearly escaped to tell the tale.

"Professor, in the Ravenclaw tower—"

"Blood, all over the walls—"

"Just got back from Quidditch practice—"

"_Silence_," Dumbledore ordered, holding up his hands for quiet. Immediately the two boys before him shut their mouths, exchanging nervous glances, and Professor McGonagall placed a protective hand on either one of their shoulders.

"Headmaster, I think these two should tell you what they just told me. They wanted to see you immediately."

Dumbledore's pure blue gaze settled on Francis and Arthur, looking from one set of eyes to the other. Both were filled with restrained terror, but the boy with the green eyes spoke first. Dumbledore knew Arthur; wonderful grades, rebellious streak, and a certain disregard for the rules. He smiled slightly as Arthur took a deep, shaky breath and began the story.

"Professor, I went out with Francis to Quidditch practice, and when we came in it was almost curfew."

Francis must have settled well here, to be bringing his friends to Quidditch practice with him, Dumbledore thought with approval. The two boys exchanged nervous glances and then Arthur continued.

"He told me he needed to drop off his broom in the Slytherin common room, so we did that, and then we headed up to Ravenclaw tower. When we got there, I made the mistake of looking at the wall opposite the landing on the spiral stairs, and it's—"

Arthur stopped abruptly as his voice threatened to give out, swallowing hard. He looked over to Francis, meeting his eyes and silently pleading with him to finish the story.

Francis nodded, taking the hint. "There's blood splattered all over the wall. Someone wrote a poem in it, too." He exchanged glances with Arthur before going on. "'_When the clock strikes thirteen_' or something like that."

Dumbledore's face didn't change, but his eyes grew dark with controlled panic at the mention of the poem. He shut them for a moment, trying to decide what to do.

Finally his eyes opened, locking with Francis's worried gaze. Francis stared right back, searching for an answer, but Dumbledore made sure he gave away nothing through the mask of calm.

After a long pause, he spoke. "Minerva, could you and Arthur wait outside for a moment?" he asked. Arthur looked uneasily back over his shoulder as Professor McGonagall steered him out of the office, as though he wanted to run back to Francis and stay by him, but instead allowed himself to be shunted out and the door closed between them.

Dumbledore turned back to Francis, leaning forward urgently. "I will not lie," he said quietly. "This business frightens me. You have seen the look in Arthur's eyes, yes?"

Francis nodded, remembering the terrified dilation of his pupils, eating away the beautiful green and replacing it with panicked black. He hated that look. It scared him to see Arthur so helpless and afraid.

Dumbledore went on. "I need you to accompany him back to his common room, and see that he makes it there safely. Sometimes it is better for one to be in company when he is as shaken as Arthur right now."

Francis nodded, turning to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him for a moment longer.

"I strongly recommend caution," he murmured. "Everything may not be as it seems."

* * *

><p>The halls were no longer lit with warm torchlight by the time Francis and Arthur left the Headmaster's office, but they were in no hurry to end this moonlight stroll. It seemed the best time to think, and each boy walked, buried in his own thoughts.<p>

What had Dumbledore told Francis? Why would it be something he didn't want Arthur to hear? Could it just be that it would scare him or damage his pride, or... something more? Arthur shook his head. Stupid brain. It had been wandering in endless circles for a good half hour now.

Meanwhile, Francis was on a completely different track. What had the headmaster meant when he said 'everything was not as it seemed'? Was he implying that he thought Arthur was the culprit? Francis snorted mentally. And how, exactly, could Arthur be the culprit? He'd been with Francis all day, except for lunch when he'd been straight across the room at the Ravenclaw table, and most certainly hadn't skived off any classes to come up here and paint the wall with blood. And still, Francis wondered whose blood it was. What if there was a corpse hidden somewhere, too?

Suddenly a bell tolled out over the school, jolting both Francis and Arthur from their thoughts. They looked at each other before Francis broke the silence.

"Midnight," he murmured. "We should be getting back."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed grudgingly, though he was stifling a yawn as he did so. "I think I'll be skipping Astronomy tonight."

Francis smiled. "_Oui_, I think I will be, too."

Arthur started in the direction of Ravenclaw tower, Francis close at his side. Again he had a nagging urge to grab that hand swinging gracefully at the Brit's side, but restrained it and crossed his arms just to be sure it didn't happen while he wasn't paying attention. Twice in one night seemed a bit much.

"What was Dumbledore asking you about, when he sent me and McGonagall out into the hall?" Arthur asked on a random impulse. If the frog didn't want to tell him, it was fine, but it was worth a try.

To his great surprise, Francis answered without hesitation. "He told me to stick by you. I don't think anyone liked the look in your eyes when you were talking about the blood."

"I- was it evil or something?" Arthur demanded anxiously as they continued up the corridor. Francis smiled, shaking his head, though the smile quickly faded.

"You looked absolutely terrified, _cher_," he said quietly. "Your pupils were all wide, like a rabbit that's just seen its family ripped to death by a fox."

"...Oh," Arthur murmured. He looked down at the floor, shoulders giving an involuntary shiver. Francis wanted to hug him, but knew that would only result in some foul language and possible smacking. So he didn't.

They climbed the spiral stairs once more, but this time they looked different by the silvery light of the moon. Francis was deliberately not looking at the wall opposite the landing; he didn't want to see the dripping poem, no doubt obscured by shadow but horrible all the same.

Arthur shivered at knowing that was behind him, hurrying to the eagle knocker on the door to the common room.

"What is truth?" it asked, stretching its wings and yawning.

"The absence of lies," Arthur answered quickly, and the door swung open to admit them. The two boys slipped through and then shut it behind them, nearly breathing open sighs of relief at not having to see the blood on the wall anymore. For some reason, it just _bothered _them.

Arthur sighed wearily, heading for the boys' dormitory with heavy feet. Suddenly he felt as though his arms and legs were weighted down with rocks.

"I'm off to bed," he told Francis, turning to look over his shoulder. His green eyes sparkled in the moonlight. "I suggest you do the same, frog."

"_Oui_, I will," Francis replied with a slight smile, before watching the Brit trudge off and settling down on the couch in front of the dormant fireplace. He would wait here for a while, and then check on Arthur one last time to say goodnight. Just like Dumbledore had said.

His eyes closed and his thoughts wandered, slipping away from the moonlit common room to trail silently behind Mental Arthur as he pulled his long black school robes off over his head and lay down, wearing only his boxers. Arthur always had a very British elegance about him; something that Francis couldn't quite place. Maybe it was in the way he moved, or in his heavy accent or that thinking face that seemed to appear so often. Or even in the way anything he did was done proudly, outright and forward. Francis smiled in spite of himself. Like wearing that beautiful green ring, that seemed to glow with his eyes—he never took it off.

Was Arthur still having nightmares? Francis's mind had begun to drift back to rejoin his body, and he opened his eyes to glance around the room at nothing in particular. It had been about ten minutes... If Arthur was as tired as he'd seemed, he would be too sleepy to kill Francis by now. He smiled, standing from the couch and starting for the boys' dormitories.

Following Arthur's footsteps to the sixth years' dormitory, he opened the door and quietly slipped inside.

Arthur was in the bed directly across the room from him, facing the wall. From what Francis could tell, he was asleep, but not soundly. As he watched, the Brit rolled over restlessly, giving a tiny whimper in his sleep. He was hugging his pillow, trying to block out the voices that were now invading his dreams.

_As I live, you die... _

They were coming from nowhere.

Through the sleepy haze, Arthur felt a warm hand on his shoulder and the mattress dip with someone's weight. The hand was comforting, so he relaxed into it.

"Shhhh..." Francis breathed, stroking the Brit's messy blond hair. "_Vous êtes en sûreté_,_ mon cher_..."

He looked out at the full moon through the window, its silvery glow shimmering in a ring around it. Rain was coming soon, he thought absentmindedly. His hand still stroking Arthur's hair, he began to sing a lullaby his sister had used to sing to him when he couldn't sleep.

"_Mon petit enfant, mon petit enfant_

_ Le ciel est dans tes yeux._

_ Mais ferme les maintenant, mais ferme les maintenant_

_ Demain c'est un autre jour..._"

But it had always sounded better when she'd sung it. She'd made up her own tune, one that rose and fell like gentle ocean waves. Francis couldn't replace it.

He looked down at Arthur, who was now relaxed into the pillow with his eyes closed peacefully, and brushed another strand of hair behind his ear. He smiled softly. His work was done here.

But just as he quietly got up off the bed and turned to go, a warm hand caught his own.

"You have a nice voice," Arthur said quietly. He hadn't even opened his eyes, but Francis smiled.

"_Merci_, Arthur." He had the strangest urge to kiss the Brit's forehead, but stopped himself. "_Bonne nuit, dormez maintenant._"

"Thanks, frog," muttered Arthur, before rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Arthur woke so late he didn't even want to check his watch. It must be after ten, he thought as he sat up to look out at the gray sky and groaned, flopping back onto the warm covers.<p>

Did he really _have _to get up?

Yes, Arthur's mind replied bossily. He groaned as he dragged himself out of the bed and clumsily pulled on some Muggle jeans and a baggy T-shirt. Arthur hated his mind more often than not.

By the time he'd attempted to brush his hair into submission, he was much more awake and not so very grumpy. He'd actually slept well last night, which had been rare these past few months. Arthur sighed and headed down to the common room.

"_Bonjour_, _mon cher_" was most certainly not the greeting he'd been expecting.

He almost jumped, then spotted Francis lounging on the couch, his arm thrown over the back and feet propped up on the armrest. Arthur rolled his eyes.

Francis smirked, but otherwise didn't even seem to notice the other's annoyance. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," Arthur muttered. "What time is it?"

"Still early enough to get breakfast," Francis replied with a grin, gracefully swinging his legs onto the floor and coming over to join the Brit. "I was waiting for you. You know, it's amazing how long you can sleep."

Arthur smacked his shoulder a bit more gently than he'd meant to. "Not my fault you_ stalk_ me," he retorted. But despite this lovely argument, both of them were avoiding looking at the blood on the wall as they climbed down the spiral stairs and emerged into the corridor beyond.

"It's not stalking," Francis replied primly. "I merely observe your daily activities and take close note to I can use them against you later."

"Well, fuck," Arthur growled, glaring at the floor. "Blackmail, then."

"Closer," Francis said brightly.

Arthur fell into a smoldering silence. Francis was grinning in victory.

They rounded the corner to the Great Hall, only to be nearly run over by a cackling Gil.

"Hey, the lovebirds have returned!" he yelled, crushing both Francis and Arthur into a rather violent hug. They exchanged awkward looks as they were being strangled, wondering how the hell this had come about.

As soon as Gilbert released them, Arthur pointedly stepped away from Francis. "Gil, I don't know where you got this insane theory, but you're hallucinating. We are _not_ lovebirds."

Gil's evil smile widened. "Oh, you can say that, but The Awesome Me knows all about what you two were up to last night."

And with that, he skipped away, leaving Francis and Arthur to stare at each other in horror. Oh, bloody fucking hell... Was _that _what the entire school would be thinking by Monday? This year might turn out to be just a _smidge_ more embarrassing than Arthur had thought.

Francis and Arthur walked into the hall, still looking permanently scarred, and Patrick laughed at the priceless looks on their faces. But then again, Gil's theory was fairly plausible. There had been reports of people seeing Francis and Arthur walk back from the Quidditch field _holding_ _hands_ yesterday.

"Ignore him," Patrick laughed as his best friend and Francis came to sit at the Ravenclaw table—breakfast wasn't crowded anymore, anyway. Arthur flopped next to him, Francis sitting down across from them with a smile.

Patrick smiled in return, pulling two letters from the pocket of his robes and handing them to their respective owners.

"These came for you," he said. "I had to save them from Gil trying to 'detect a forgery'." He shook his head, and Arthur laughed. "I swear, 'The Awesome Him' will be the death of me. Oh, and by the way. Never let him get hold of sugar this early in the morning."

"I wondered what was wrong with him," Arthur grinned, ripping his letter open along the top and pulling out the plain Muggle notebook paper inside, riddled with his father's messy scrawl.

_Arthur—_

_ How is your year going? I'm sorry I haven't written, but you know me._

Arthur smiled; he did, indeed. His father was one of those people who have a memory equivalent to a leaky faucet.

_We've been keeping very busy with everyone in the house, and overall life has been good. Rosie and Michael send their love! Money's a little tight, but we're managing. _

Arthur couldn't stop a tiny seed of doubt from seeping into his mind at this. Rosie and Michael (the very affectionate twins), Luke (next oldest to Arthur), Johnathon, Mikey, and Lily were quite a handful, and not to mention an expensive one. Both his mum and dad worked full-time jobs, but sometimes even that wasn't enough to support their entire family, and he had to get a summer job mowing lawns or delivering papers. He read on with increased worry.

_I don't know how to tell you this, but I don't think we'll be able to have you home for Christmas this year. I have to work, and so does Mum. We need the overtime. Your siblings miss you, but I don't think we could get together the train fares for all the transfers you would have to make to get from Hogwarts back to Muggle London. I love you, Artie, and I can't tell you how sorry I am!_

Arthur just set the letter down, sighing and running his hands over his face. He understood. His parents didn't want to keep him away, but the money was just too tight with everything else going on. He wasn't angry, just disappointed—he'd wanted to come home again this year, but it wasn't looking like he would be able to.

Francis looked over his letter, skimming the loopy hand of his mother. Apparently his family was traveling back to France this year, to spend time with relatives. He could come if he wanted to, but they wouldn't force him if there was someone else he wanted to spend the holidays with.

He looked at Arthur, sitting with his head bowed, shoulders drooping uncharacteristically low.

The letter he'd gotten lay on the table, and Francis's eyes briefly caught the words _money_, _overtime_, _train _and _Christmas_. Oh, no... would Arthur not be able to go home for the holidays this year? He looked into the Brit's green eyes, dulled from their usual sparkle, and made the decision right there.

Francis was staying for Christmas.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: THE FLUFF! IT BURNS! You like, honhon?**

**By the way, the name Mikey, the way I write it, is pronounced Mike-y. MIKE-y. Not MICK-y, MIKE-y. LIKE 'MIKE', ONLY WITH AN 'EE' SOUND ON THE END. ****Alright, enough of that rant. It just bugs me how people can never seem to get that name right. So now you know.**

**Well, how was that? Was it worth the wait from last chapter? Thank you to all my lovely readers out there for not oozing through the internet to my house and murdering me in my sleep! It is much appreciated.**

**Hugs to all! And love from Maple.**


	11. Blatant Affection

**A/N: Well, I realize this could be longer, but Arthur's predicament as of the next two paragraphs happens to be mine as well. At least it's up in a shorter time than the last one was! I love this FrUK fluff; it's all FrUKy and fluffy!**

**Well, enough of me. Enjoy, my wonderful readers! Virtual maple syrup to all who review!**

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><p>Chapter Eleven: Blatant Affection<p>

For Arthur, the end of the term could not come fast enough. November was dragging by in a haze of the freezing rain that lashed the windows and piles upon piles of assignments. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures were both canceled on account of the horrendous weather, but despite that the sixth years were being loaded down with an absolutely impossible amount of homework. Arthur was grumpy and stressed, Francis was in detention every other night for his increasingly stubborn procrastination, Patrick was going crazy with organization and panicking if he got five minutes behind his homework schedule, and Gilbert was being forced to struggle through a severe sexual dry spell for want of time to do all of his outrageously long detention essays.

In short? _TOO MUCH HOMEWORK._

"What's the goddamn fucking_ difference_ between Inferi and someone who's possessed?" Arthur burst out angrily, earning himself a death glare from the librarian as he threw his quill down on his books and got up to start pacing feverishly. His green eyes flashed dangerously, arms folded over his chest as he glared down at the floor, taking four furious strides one way, four strides the other...

Francis sighed, looking up and shutting his book resignedly. It was impossible to read when there were only _four more _days left before the end of term, not counting the rest of today; it had been a long and torturous Monday. "One's dead and one isn't," he said in a monotone, blinking to clear the spots from his vision. He'd been doing so much reading lately that if so much as two more words squeezed their way into his brain, he'd probably have dyslexia for the rest of his life—not to mention a monstrous headache.

Arthur flopped down again, across from him, head in his shaking hands. "Fucking hell, I'm losing it. I'm really losing it this time."

Francis was just about ready to roll his eyes and come up with some snappy reply, but when he looked up, Arthur looked like he was about to cry. Suddenly his annoyance melted, replaced by concern. He reached out to put a hand on the other boy's quivering shoulder. _Dieu_, was his whole body shaking like this?

"I can't remember anything from yesterday morning! It's like time just skipped straight from breakfast to Potions, and missed all the classes in between!" Arthur slammed his forehead down on his book in frustration. "How am I supposed to do my homework if I can't even remember the bloody lessons?"

Francis sighed, gently pulling the book out from under Arthur's forehead and placing it in the Brit's bag, and then taking his Transfiguration book to put it in his own. He shouldered both of them, stepped around the table, and helped Arthur to his feet. He seemed a little dizzy.

"You need to sleep, _mon petit lapin_," Francis said, as Arthur gratefully stood up and took his hand. Francis couldn't help but notice that the Brit's fingers were like ice, turning to him incredulously as they left the library hand in hand. It was almost enough to distract him from the blond girl who practically fainted as they passed.

"Are your hands always cold like this?" Francis asked, covering Arthur's palm with both of his own in an attempt to warm it up. Arthur just shrugged.

"It's what happens when I'm writing a lot. So they should warm up again once the term is over." He gave Francis a grin. "You seem to have a strange attraction to my hands, frog. Do explain."

Francis froze for a second, but then shook his head and smiled, turning Arthur's hand over in his own and tracing the lines in his cool skin.

"They are just very elegant. And your fingers are very long and slender—that's why I wondered if you played piano. You have perfect hands for it. Prettier than most girls have, actually."

Arthur pulled away and smacked him on the shoulder, blushing profusely. "What is it with you and making me feel like a bloody_ female?_"

Francis grinned evilly. "Aah, but _cher_, it's so much fun, and you go such a pretty shade of red when you're embarrassed."

Arthur blushed more, glowering at him, but Francis just laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders. The blond girl from the library, who had apparently been tailing them, _did _faint this time.

Both Francis and Arthur stopped dead to watch her fall flat on her face, then resumed walking as though nothing had happened. "I'm just teasing, _mon ami_," Francis smirked. "But it's true; you do go such a lovely shade of red—"

"_Bloody_ hell!" Arthur burst out, this time smacking Francis across the face. "Shut _up_, you stupid frog!"

Said frog looked a little offended, but smirked all the same.

Arthur groaned, facepalming. This was going to be a long week.

* * *

><p>Francis and Arthur sat across from each other in Transfiguration as McGonagall lectured them on the proper wrist movement to be used for turning a King Cobra into a cactus. Why anyone would want to do that, Arthur did not know. Both seemed equally prickly and undesirable—as was the headache he'd had since two days ago. Another one of the memory blackouts had happened, but this one was small, and at least nothing odd or creepy or downright terrifying had turned up yet. Not counting the fact that the blood at the top of the spiral stairs couldn't seem to be removed—even by magic—and gleamed as brightly as shiny red paint on the stone. This had pushed the school into a state of edginess, but none except the few conspiracy theorists thought this was anything of meaning. To everyone else it was just a clever prank set up to scare the students and staff.<p>

The desks had been arranged in pairs, front-to-front with the partner you would be working with on this lesson, and Gil and Patrick had been paired together, as well as—just Arthur's luck—Arthur and the _frog_. Somehow, though, he didn't mind as much as he probably should have. None of the girls had even fainted yet; a major accomplishment. Lately it seemed to have become routine for one, two, or all of the girls in any given class that Francis and Arthur had together to start giggling profusely and then keel over onto the floor a second later. The one with the blond hair and camera did that most often. It annoyed the teachers to no end.

Arthur felt something nudge his foot under the desk, looking up to see Francis smirking at him purposefully, head propped up on one hand. Arthur kicked out at the foot that had just invaded his personal space, successfully knocking it away, but the Frenchman's gaze didn't waver. Francis pushed a scrap of parchment over to him. Arthur opened the folds and read it.

_Want to see how many girls we can take out in one class?_

He considered the situation for a moment, even though the choice was obvious; spend an hour listening to some boring lecture, or gang up with Francis to make this class a whole lot more interesting. He nodded so discreetly that only Francis could possibly catch it, and the frog's mischievous grin widened as he took his head off his hand.

"_Do what I do_," he mouthed silently, and Arthur smirked as well. He felt that same foot nudge his, and this time instead of kicking it away, he ever-so-gently pushed against it. Francis bit his tongue, trying desperately not to laugh as he saw the blond girl go red in the face, suppressing one of the signature high, piercing squeals she always seemed to give off. Arthur smiled a soft, convincingly affectionate smile, which was really a grin in disguise as their eyes locked, sharing silent laughter.

Arthur slid his foot behind Francis's, entwining their legs under the desk. They both cast sideways glances at the girl, who was now looking like she was about to explode. She tapped her friend on the shoulder, and they both started giggling hysterically. McGonagall halted her speech, glaring at them.

"Is there something you'd like to add to this lesson, girls?" she asked coldly. Francis and Arthur exchanged evil grins.

The girls couldn't even speak—they just pointed to Francis and Arthur across the classroom, now having the equivalent of what seemed to be an epileptic seizure. Professor McGonagall followed their accusing finger, her harsh gaze falling on them, and then on their legs, nestled together under the desks.

Arthur could swear she had to suppress a grin pulling at her mouth before she spoke.

"Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Bonnefoy, please refrain from blatant displays of affection in this classroom from now on. Detention, both of you. You will spend the rest of my hour in the library—now get the hell out so I can teach."

"_Merci_, Professor," Francis told her graciously, exchanging evil looks with Arthur as they gathered their books and left the room in triumph. The entire room was staring at them—girls with unchecked awe, boys with a mixture of jealousy and something similar to what all the females now had shamelessly embedded on their faces. Gilbert and Tonio were collapsed on their desks and dying of laughter.

"Did you_ see_ the look on McGonagall's face?" Francis demanded as soon as they were out in the hall with the door firmly shut, restraining an extremely unmanly giggle. Arthur nodded, grinning.

"She's just as much a fangirl as everyone else!" He shook his head, slinging his books over his shoulder and falling into step next to Francis as they set off at a leisurely stroll for the library. "Nice job, frog. You just got us out of the most boring Transfiguration lesson in history."

Francis smirked, shrugging lightly. "I aim to please, _mon petit Anglais_."

"Oh, stop," Arthur laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm. "You know I can't—"

_From the depths, I will return_

_ To take what's mine, from all you've earned..._

Arthur froze on the spot. The voice was disappearing, and fast. He had to catch it. His eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights, but as suddenly as he'd frozen, he dropped his bag and sprinted off down the corridor.

"Arthur—what?" Francis called, but the Brit only turned for a split second.

"Come on!" he yelled, before disappearing around the corner and leaving Francis to try and catch up.

Down a staircase, around another corner, and one long corridor later, Arthur skidded to a halt in front of a pool of water. It glistened with scarlet. His stomach plummeted in dread.

"Oh _no_," Francis whispered, rounding the last corner and stopping dead in front of the scene.

The blood in the water had trickled down from another poem, painted and dripping on the wall.

_From the depths, I will return_

_ To take what's mine, from all you've earned..._

Arthur stood stock-still again, paralyzed in sudden terror. He dared not move, he dared not make a sound. He felt as though he was being watched, the gaze of someone very evil cutting straight down to his soul. It knew who he was, where he was, and that he sensed its presence—and it didn't like him one bit.

"Arthur?" Francis whispered. A tiny whimper tore itself from Arthur's throat as he stood like a statue, eyes shut tight. He didn't want to cry in front of Francis. Not again.

"Talk to me, _cher_!" Francis was starting to sound panicked. "_S'il vous plait_!"

Slowly the feeling of being stared straight through began to lessen, enough that Arthur could force himself to move. He ran to Francis, giving up his pride and burying his face in the taller boy's shoulder. His entire body was quivering. Francis hugged him tight, slowly rocking back and forth.

"My head hurts," Arthur muttered, before his voice cracked and he broke into quiet sobs.

"Shhh... _Vous êtes en sûreté_,_ mon ami_..." Francis whispered words of comfort in his ear, though his blue eyes were darting around for someone, anyone, to get Madam Pomfrey. This had gone far enough. He didn't want his Arthur to have to live with this anymore.

Wait—_his _Arthur?

But before he'd had a chance to wonder where that had come from, the fourth year Matthew Williams came walking around the corner. He stopped dead when he saw Arthur and Francis, and made to turn around, but Francis stopped him.

"Could you get Madam Pomfrey?" he asked, blue eyes wide with worry. Matthew nodded, glancing briefly at Arthur and then dropping his bag, dashing off for the hospital wing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Why do I love McGonagall so much in this chapter? Anyway, remember the virtual maple syrup! Review pweaz? I can only keep so much syrup in my room before Dad and Papa start getting suspicious!**


	12. The Princess and the Frog

**A/N: I love this chapter. Very much so. It's so fluffy I nearly drowned.**

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><p>Chapter Twelve: The Princess and the Frog<p>

Poppy Pomfrey looked up as a young blond boy came sprinting into the hospital wing, standing up from her desk and opening the office door just in time for him to skid to a halt.

"Francis Bonnefoy wanted me to get you," he panted, apprehensively meeting her accusing gaze. Even though he shouldn't have been running in the hospital wing (or the hallways, for that matter) in the first place, it softened a bit when she saw the timid look in his violet eyes. He didn't mean to cause trouble.

"Is someone sick?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, and Matthew shook his head.

"Well—I think, but I'm not sure. You might want to come."

"I will." Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the office, joining Matthew as she shut the door behind her. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>"Bloody frog," Arthur muttered under his breath as soon as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office. He'd be stuck here in the hospital wing overnight; this would mean missing Astronomy again, <em>and<em> the end-of-term party that the Gryffindors always threw on the last night before Christmas break. He sighed, biting his lip. He'd been in here all day, and school had ended two hours ago.

Now he was just lying there, wondering what had happened earlier. Just like all other times, now that he thought back to the blood on the wall, his reaction seemed pathetic. Why did these things bother him so badly? Arthur rolled over to bury his face in the pillow and forced his eyes to shut, thinking restlessly that if he was going to be stuck here until tomorrow morning, he might as well get some sleep.

The hours dragged by like years, delighted at how thoroughly they were torturing him. Slowly darkness fell over the school, leaving an extremely antsy Arthur to wonder what kind of fun Francis was having at this very moment. What was he missing out on? Even though, as a Ravenclaw, Arthur was used to being left out, he couldn't help the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd thought for sure that he and Francis would be going to the Gryffindors' party together, even though they'd only found out about it from Alfred in the library after curfew yesterday night. Hell, they hadn't had any other plans.

Madam Pomfrey hadn't emerged from her office for some time now, and Arthur assumed it must be nine o' clock already, or even past. He rolled over restlessly, letting his eyes open to the fabric of the pillow and chewing at his lip again. Why did he feel this bad? Could he possibly be missing Francis?

At that moment, the sound of a door closing echoed through the room, and Arthur quickly looked up to see someone silhouetted in the shadows.

"Francis?" Arthur hissed skeptically.

The person turned around, smirking over his shoulder. His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, blond waves falling effortlessly around his face. Francis looked... _better_ than normal, Arthur realized with a jolt as the Frenchman spoke in that low, smooth accent. "You didn't think I'd abandon you—did you, _cher_?"

"Maybe for a little bit," he admitted sheepishly, before lightly slipping out from under the covers and throwing his arms around Francis's neck. Francis laughed quietly at this pleasant surprise, gladly returning it and patting Arthur's back.

"The party is just starting now," Francis breathed in his ear, rubbing his back in warm circles. Arthur's stomach flipped giddily, and he gave Francis a little squeeze.

"Thank you for rescuing me," he whispered back, letting his cheek rest on the taller boy's shoulder. "I was worried you wouldn't come back."

"I couldn't just leave you, _mon petit lapin_." Francis's warm breath ghosted over his ear, making him shiver and break away. They looked at each other for a moment; Arthur's hair was messier than ever, his green eyes sparkling beautifully under the silver glow of the moon. It had only just struck Francis how slim he was, but still as strong as ever. Full pink lips curled into the ever-present smirk as Arthur met the frog's gaze.

"So. Let's get going, shall we?" Arthur prompted, noting with discomfort how the frog was looking at him, gaze darting between his eyes and his lips. He pointedly chose to ignore it.

"Gladly," Francis muttered, and together the two boys slipped from the hospital wing into the shadowy corridor beyond.

"Alfred told me the password was _Venomous Tentacula_," Arthur breathed as they rounded a corner and started silently up a stairway. Francis nodded.

"_Oui_, it should not have changed..."

Together they moved from shadow to shadow, before finally they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that Arthur knew marked the entrance to Gryffindor common room—six long years of sneaking around and nosing into places better left alone had served him well.

"Venomous Tentacuala," he muttered. The Fat Lady sighed resignedly.

"If that _git _Alfred doesn't stop giving out the password to other houses, Dumbledore will have to think up a new way to secure this common room," she huffed dramatically, before swinging open to admit them. Arthur smirked in thanks.

The first thing that hit him was a huge burst of _color_ and _noise_. The common room was a cozy sort of place, but for the moment it was decked out in huge scarlet-and-green banners and loud music blaring from magically magnified stereo speakers. Arthur grinned, but just as he was about to move, a very excited Alfred leapt out of nowhere to crush him and Francis into a strangling hug. Why did they always get hugged _together?_ Why not _separately?_

"YOU CAME!" Alfred greeted, still choking them. He seemed to thrive off the noise and chaos. Arthur coughed, as if that was his cue to let go, and he did, but that didn't make him stop talking. "We were scared you wouldn't for a few minutes, there. Hey, come on! Gil and Mattie and Antonio and a ton of the girls are already here."

Francis and Arthur exchanged glances at the mention of the girls. Did they want to knock more of them out tonight, or just leave them be? Francis shrugged and took Arthur's hand.

Well, they were apparently knocking them out.

The two boys followed Alfred through the somewhat crowded room, over to the drinks table where Gil, Antonio and Matthew stood, awkwardly attempting to keep up a decent conversation. Seeing as it was Matthew, that was pretty much impossible in normal circumstances, but now his cheeks were dusted pink and his mouth seemed to have sealed itself shut. Gilbert, of course, was oblivious and as talkative as ever, and _forget_ Tonio. Arthur felt a pang of sympathy for Matthew.

"Hey, guys! They came!" Alfred yelled once they were halfway across the room, and Mattie looked up quickly from where he'd been currently staring at the floor to avoid looking at either of the taller boys who were persistently harassing him. His eyes locked with Arthur's and he almost breathed a visible sigh of relief—someone he could hang out with who _wouldn't _make him blush every two seconds.

"Um, hi..." Matthew greeted uncomfortably, awkwardly avoiding Gilbert's ruby eyes. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other as Tonio poked his shoulder with another question, and Arthur felt a bit bad for him; no doubt Alfred had forced him to come. It was clear the poor kid felt out of place.

Out of nowhere, Francis's thumb began rubbing gentle, warm circles into the back of Arthur's hand, and when he realized that with a jolt, the world muted for a second before spinning back into motion as his stomach got over the shock. It was like his nerves had suddenly gone into tingly overload.

"You can't get drunk tonight," Francis murmured, lips uncomfortably close to his ear. Arthur refrained from flinching away, and instead met the blue eyes over his shoulder. "We have to get you back to the hospital wing tomorrow morning, before Madam Pomfrey notices you've been gone."

"Alright, no drunkness," Arthur sighed grudgingly, making the Frenchman hold back a chuckle. Francis moved forward against Arthur's back as he spoke. "But that doesn't mean I'm completely avoiding the alcohol, okay?"

"Whatever you say, _mon lapin_," Francis smirked. It was at that moment that Arthur realized three things. Well, no—actually, four.

Thing #1: Every person in the common room was staring at them raptly, like someone waiting for the climax of a suspenseful movie.

Thing #2: The few fangirls still left standing were clicking away madly with cameras and collapsing in fits of hysterical giggles one after another.

Thing #3: He and Francis were not even an inch from kissing.

Thing #4: He didn't want to push Francis away.

Just after this fourth realization, Francis's confident gaze wavered and he pulled back, actually looking a bit unsure of himself for once. Arthur wanted to reclaim the fingers that slipped from his own steel grip, but he was too stunned at the moment. He hadn't even realized how his nervous emerald eyes had been darting between the frog's crystalline blue gaze and those lips, or how tightly he'd been holding Francis's hand. A split second later, the familiar self-confident smirk returned to the frog's face as he broke away, and Arthur's heart sank when Gil and Tonio grabbed both his hands protectively.

Despite his friends trying to haul him away, Francis hesitated. "You don't mind if I—"

"No, it's fine," Arthur said too quickly, his throat constricting for some strange reason. He stepped away, toward the now-deserted Matthew. "Go have fun."

There was a loud collective groan from every fangirl in the room. Alfred shrugged and walked off to go hit on some of the girls—which, to his disappointment, wasn't working as well as it normally did, given that Francis and Arthur were here—leaving Matthew and Arthur alone at the _very_ tempting drinks table.

"Well..." Arthur considered, biting his lip. "One can't hurt." His hand darted out and snatched a bottle of firewhisky so quickly you'd think the table was going to suddenly grow arms and steal it back. The frigid glass had drops of icy water rolling down its surface, and Arthur smiled at the odd contradiction; _ice_-cold _fire_whisky. But still, it was a lovely combination. He popped open the bottle and took a swig, smirking as he felt the ice sear its way down his throat. Arthur turned to Mattie.

"I'm guessing you'd like to find a quiet corner, huh?" he asked understandingly, his smile sympathetic. Matthew nodded gratefully, and together the two wove in between people to find refuge from the noise and lights in the hollow of one of the large moonlit windows.

Arthur settled back against the cold glass pane, taking another swig of firewhisky. He smiled as Matthew came to sit next to him, humming lightly to the tune of the music.

"You know this song?" he asked, attempting to start a conversation. Matthew nodded and smiled a little sheepishly.

"Eh... yeah, I do. Alfred's fault."

Arthur laughed; when in doubt, blame your evil twin. Sounded like a good plan.

It was only when the younger boy started singing softly with the lyrics that he actually stopped and listened to the words.

"_You walk into the room and I_

_ I want to tell you, tell you but I just can't speak _

_ This shouldn't be so difficult_

_ Why-ah-y, why can't I get it right?_

_ Tell me why I see you and I just can't breathe..._"

Arthur wasn't even sure Matthew realized he was listening, or he would've stopped singing by now; but his voice was soft and pretty, for a boy's. Not as nice as Francis's, gently humming him to sleep, but pretty.

"_I can never be myself_

_ How can I when I'm stuck in hell?_

_ Stutteri- Stutteri- Stuttering_

_ Want to tell you what I feel inside_

_ But every time I go and try_

_ Mutteri- Mutteri- Muttering._.."

Arthur watched as the younger boy broke off into sheepish hums after this, but he kept listening with interest until the song finished. Suddenly a realization dawned on him. No, it didn't _dawn _on him, it was more like someone had slammed him over the head with a mental bowling ball. He set down his firewhisky and met the other's violet eyes with all the seriousness of a protective older brother.

"Matthew, is there someone...?"

Mattie nodded, blushing pink and looking away. "P-promise you won't tell?"

"Bloody hell, no!" Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms. "Do you really think that little of me?"

Matthew blushed more, smiling embarrassedly. "Well, no, but..." He took a deep breath and tried to spit it out without stumbling over the name for once. "G-Gilbert."

Arthur hoped his jaw hadn't fallen onto the ground.

Not only was this sweet, innocent, lovable fourth year boy hopelessly crushing on a complete idiot—who was one of Arthur's best friends, but a unanimously acknowledged idiot all the same—he was gay. Not that Arthur had a problem with homosexuality, it was just..._ alien_, coming from Matthew...

"I-I don't even know if he's gay," Mattie muttered sheepishly, a brilliant red flush flooding his cheeks. Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder and looked directly into his eyes.

"Trust me, Matthew. It's _Gil_. If he isn't now, he will be."

* * *

><p>"Go ask him to dance. Now."<p>

Gilbert gave Francis a none-too-gentle shove from behind, shunting him in the direction of Arthur and Mattie's corner. They appeared to be engaged in an intense conversation, and every once in a while, Matthew would cast a discreet glance toward them. Francis wondered what they could be talking about.

It had to be some time in the early hours of the morning by now, and about a fourth of the people had already left, while another fourth were sacked out on the couches and chairs. The music had slowed, and much more romantic songs were now floating about the room. The few couples left standing danced to it, laughing and giggling tipsily. Alfred and whatever new girl the self-proclaimed hero had picked up for the evening were one of them.

Antonio was so drunk he couldn't see straight, much less walk. Being the wonderfully devoted friends they were, Gil and Francis had just left him in a corner telling him not to die. They doubted he'd heard them anyway.

Francis swallowed nervously, watching as Arthur leaned back against the glass of the window, taking another swig of firewhisky. Was this his... _third _bottle? Fourth? Francis couldn't tell. For a minute he wondered if the Brit had broken his word and gotten sloshed, but then again, he wouldn't be functioning this well if he was drunk—or at least, from word of Gil's past experiences, he wouldn't. Maybe Arthur had just been taking it slow.

Francis fidgeted a bit where he stood. Why was he feeling like this? He had never gotten squeamish at the prospect of asking someone to dance before, but now his heart was racing. Francis sighed, figuring it was just the wine he'd had earlier, and stuck his tongue out at an all-too-smug Gilbert before starting across the room to the corner where Arthur and Mattie sat.

As soon as Arthur looked up, Francis knew the Brit wasn't drunk. Quite the contrary, actually; maybe _Francis _was the one who'd had a little too much alcohol.

Arthur's eyes sparkled brilliantly green, the gold in the center lighting up and swimming throughout everything in between. His blond hair was still a mess, but it was a _good _mess, falling into his eyes just enough for him to brush it away again. Something was changed; he was no longer the scowling boy that Francis hung out with in the school corridors, he looked like a fallen angel.

"You're staring, frog," Arthur smirked.

Francis snapped out of it, blinking to clear his head. "_Je suis d__é__sole_," he muttered. But honestly, who wouldn't be?

He remembered what he'd come over here for, and his hands began to sweat. "Er, Arthur..."

"Yes, _frog?_"

Francis steeled his nerves for a beating and returned with some effort to his usual suave self, accenting the words with an elegant bow that was only half-joking. "Would you like to dance, _ma cherie_?" He looked hopefully up at Arthur's eyes, to find the emerald gaze laughing.

"I suppose every princess needs a frog," Arthur replied loftily, reaching out like a haughty queen to grasp Francis's outstretched hand with those long, graceful fingers. Francis couldn't help himself; he just had to play along. With a childish grin tugging at his lips, he escorted his newfound 'princess' to the dance floor.

Somehow Francis managed to turn the song into a waltz. Princess Arthur didn't really know how, but all he knew was that now he was dancing better than he ever had in his life, and for once wasn't tripping over his own feet. All the same, as he listened to the song, he couldn't help but comment.

"What in God's name made Alfred pick _Kelly_ _Clarkson _for the music?" He wrinkled his nose in distaste as Francis swung him out for a spin. "I mean, honestly. Is there nothing else out there?"

"You have to admit, the song is good," Francis said mildly, pulling them back together and placing his hand back at Arthur's slim waist. He started humming with the tune, looking into Arthur's eyes with a softly penetrating glow that made him shiver and have to glance away. He found himself staring at his own hand that rested lightly on Francis's chest to feel the vibrations.

"Don't tell me you know the words," he said incredulously. Francis smirked and started singing, but never took his gaze from Arthur's green eyes.

"_If no one will listen_

_ When you decide to speak_

_ If no one is left standing after the bombs explode_

_ If no one wants to look at you for what you truly are_

_ I'll be here_,_ still_."

Again, Arthur shivered and looked away from the blue eyes staring into his, trying not to concentrate on how soft and sincere the voice above him sounded. No, no, no no no. Absolutely not.

Meanwhile, the fangirls had miraculously awakened and were madly snapping photos.

Arthur was tired, and before he knew it, the song had ended and he was flopped next to Francis on the couch. It couldn't hurt to rest for a few minutes, could it? He settled back and let his eyelids slip closed.

Little did he know that he was breathing deeply in time with the frog's heart.

* * *

><p>Francis realized that his princess was asleep when Arthur's head fell onto his chest, resting there as though they'd been made for this. He felt some powerful emotion swell inside him as he tentatively slid his arm around the sleeping Brit's shoulders, and when Arthur didn't stir, pulled him closer to warm him up. But just as Francis was about to see if that messy blond hair was as soft as it looked, suddenly Gilbert came bounding out of nowhere.<p>

He wolf-whistled loudly, grinning in triumph. "I knew it! I _knew _you two were—"

Francis shushed him angrily, shooting a pointed glance at Arthur, who was currently in a peaceful sleep on his chest. He didn't want to ruin the spell.

Gil rolled his eyes, but quieted down anyway. "Francis, if you're going to shag him, the time is now. Otherwise, it's four-thirty in the fucking morning so you'd better get him back to the hospital wing before Pomfrey notices he's gone and he gets imprisoned there for the whole Christmas break. 'Kay?"

Francis sighed and nodded, looking down at the beautiful boy on his chest. Arthur was so soft and innocent-looking when he slept, and now he was smiling faintly with his dreams. Francis hated to move him, but he knew Gilbert was right.

"What about Tonio?" he asked quietly, stroking Arthur's messy blond hair. Gil smirked evilly but didn't comment.

"I'll get him," he replied. "Just take Artie back to the hospital wing without getting either of you killed."

"Thanks for the confidence," Francis muttered dryly at his friend's retreating back. He sighed, looking down at Arthur's peaceful face one more time and then carefully removing the Brit from his chest so he could stand up. Francis bent down again and scooped Arthur's light body from the couch, smiling at the leap his stomach gave when Arthur's arms sleepily found their way around his neck.

He carried Arthur back up to the hospital wing, holding him close the entire way. Francis didn't know how someone could be so inhumanly light and warm and beautiful all at the same time, but somehow Arthur was.

Francis gently placed him in the bed he'd been assigned for the night, smiling as he tucked the covers around him. God, he felt like a mother hen. But then again, Arthur was worth it. Francis stood watching his princess sleep for a minute, taking in the gentle rise and fall of the slim chest and long golden eyelashes he'd never noticed before. He smiled.

Francis gently leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Arthur's forehead, running his fingers through that messy blond hair one last time. The moonlight made it shine silver.

"_Bonne nuit_," Francis whispered.

As he left the hospital wing with his heart racing and another childish smile tugging at his lips, Francis was left to conclude one thing.

He, Francis Bonnefoy, was in love with Arthur Kirkland.

Second conclusion:

_Merde._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: SEEEE? It be fluffy! Anyway, I thought I'd put the names of the songs in here, just because I love any pairing-related songs I can get my hands on.**

**PruCan song - _Stuttering _by the Friday Night Boys (Mattie's POV)  
>FrUK song - <em>If No One Will Listen<em> by, obviously, Kelly Clarkson. It fits this fic more than the actual pairing, and if you don't really see it now then you will at the end. Other FrUK songs I have that fit the pairing more are:**

**_Paparazzi _by Greyson Chance  
><em>Unbroken <em>by Demi Lovato (hints of UsUK, Francy-Pants makes it better!)  
><strong>**ALL-TIME GREATEST: _Bang Bang _by 3Oh!3. I swear to God, it's not even funny how well this one fits. Even if you don't look up any of the other ones, I beg you, search this on Youtube. You will die squealing.**


	13. Let it Snow

**A/N: I apologize profusely. I've developed an amazing talent at procrastination, and if this chapter seems a little rushed, just know that a huge warm front hit where I live. It's ninety degrees outside right now, and as of last chapter's ending, it was still below freezing. Fuck my life.**

**I'm so sorry this took so long to get up, guys! Don't hurt me? Me and Mr. Kumajiro love you all!**

**Also: I don't know how many other people accept this theory, but I've decided to go along with the conclusion that England's equivalent of Italy's curl is a spot at the very bottom of his back. So... yeah, hopefully that'll clear up some confusion when you get to that place in the chapter. You'll know it when you read it.**

* * *

><p>Chapter Thirteen: Let it Snow<p>

The first day of Christmas break dawned in a rare haze of gloriously blinding sunshine. The sky outside was deep, crystal-clear indigo blue, adding a burst of color to the grass and trees that had long since wilted brown. Arthur yawned lazily and rolled over, wondering sleepily when Madam Pomfrey would let him go and also what had happened after the dance last night. The fact that he was alone in bed had to be a good thing, but still... he'd have to ask the frog about it. You couldn't be too careful with Francis Bonnefoy around.

About mid-morning, Madam Pomfrey finally granted Arthur escape of her clutches, leaving him to slip away to his dormitory to change, send off Gil and Patrick's Christmas presents from the owlery, and then dash down the Great Hall for a very late breakfast.

The Hall had been completely transformed—Arthur had no idea how anyone, house elf, teacher, or no, could do this all in a single night, but apparently it was possible. He stood in the doorway for a minute, taking it all in. A small, contented smile worked its way onto his face.

Enchanted icicles glittered on the ceiling, and four enormous Christmas trees stood in all their glory in each corner of the Hall; one was decorated with scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, one with shades of blue for Ravenclaw, one with yellow and black tinsel for Hufflepuff, and one with elegant silver and green for Slytherin.

Arthur grinned as he scanned the tables to see a familiar face smirking at him.

"Hey, Francis!" he laughed, walking over and flopping down across from the French boy. "So you're still stalking me, are you?"

He couldn't help but notice how Francis's plain Muggle dress shirt set off the sparkling blue in his eyes.

"_Oui_," Francis said mildly, shoving a plate of food across to Arthur. "Eat," he smiled. "You're grumpy when you're hungry, and God only knows what you'll do while I'm gone."

"Wait, you're leaving?" Arthur asked, suddenly confused. Francis nodded, standing up and pulling on his coat.

"I have a special errand to run," he said mysteriously, blue eyes sparkling. Again, he felt that same odd urge to lean down and kiss Arthur's forehead, but caught himself just in time. Instead, Francis gave the Brit a brief, friendly hug.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he murmured, an odd giddiness twisting his stomach as he felt Arthur's arms come up to rest around his neck for a short moment. He pulled back, eyes brighter than ever. "Hey, maybe it'll even snow while I'm gone—that would make my Christmas! But just don't burn the school down."

The Brit smirked up at him. "Not without you in it, frog," he half-teased, watching Francis turn his back on the Great Hall and wondering what this 'special errand' could be.

Francis, meanwhile, just hoped Arthur would like it.

* * *

><p>Arthur sighed contentedly, settling back into the couch and looking out at the deserted common room around him. It was nice to have a day to himself, curled up cozily in the common room with rare winter sunshine streaming in the windows. He pulled out his sketchbook, absentmindedly flipping through it and stopping at one of the last blank pages that were left, noting that he'd need a new one soon. Not only was his old one falling apart, but it was also nearly full; after all, he'd only had it since he'd started third year. It was about time for those pages to be showing a little wear!<p>

Arthur pulled a plain Muggle pencil stub out of his pocket, rolling over onto his stomach and stretching out luxuriously over the soft couch cushions; he had all this space, might as well enjoy it. He smiled slightly, carefully touching the pencil tip to the parchment and beginning to draw.

What would Francis be doing now? Arthur wondered absentmindedly. And what could the 'special errand' be, that he'd left the castle on the first day of Christmas break to carry it out? Since Francis had always struck him as one to sleep in on any day possible, it must've been urgent or the bloody frog most likely wouldn't've been out of bed in the first place. Arthur smirked at the thought.

He started adding shading to the rough sketch, being sure to get down between _all _the petals. Soon his rose was springing out of the paper like a Muggle photograph, but as Arthur finished it carefully, he held it up and couldn't help but feel that something was missing.

It needed color, he finally decided, sighing a little wistfully as he glared down at his bag like it had all the answers. Francis had been right about the colors, after all. Bloody frog. After Christmas was over, he'd have to be sure to get himself some colored pencils.

Arthur turned toward the window to look out at the blue crystal sky, setting the sketchbook on the floor and settling down with his chin propped on one of the cushy pillows as his thoughts meandered off in the direction of Christmas, looming before him in all its glory. The holiday was only four days away, and with his newly-developed—and superb—talent at procrastination, Arthur had been putting off getting Francis a gift for some time now. The issue wasn't that he didn't want to; it was just that he didn't know _what _to get. And for some strange reason, he _really _wanted the frog to like it.

Francis seemed to have everything he wanted already—Arthur had never even heard him so much as mention anything that could be turned into a gift idea. He groaned in frustration, flopping over onto his back and glaring out the window at the blinding sunshine. Why did that stupid Frenchman have to be so damn complicated?

Wait. Sunshine.

_ Holy shit._

_ Sunshine!_

Arthur sat bolt-upright, hit with a sudden and violent burst of inspiration. He checked his watch; good, it had only been an hour since Francis had left. Arthur probably had until about noon to get this done without the frog knowing. He leapt off the couch, grabbing his wand and dashing out of the room. He needed to see Flitwick, _now;_ a private Charms lesson just might be in order.

* * *

><p>Francis's eyes fluttered open.<p>

The gray light of dawn was just beginning to show on the clear-skied horizon outside his window, and he sighed in disappointment. One of the few upsides his mother had told him about moving to England was that they might actually get more than a meek dusting of snow for Christmas. As it was looking, he'd be having no such luck, and although he knew it was childish, Francis had caught himself dreaming of snow more than one time last night.

But more often than even the snow, he had been dreaming of Arthur. He was much more excited than he wanted to admit about giving the Brit his present—he was almost completely sure that Arthur would love it. It was going to be a great surprise.

With another sigh, Francis rolled out of bed, giving up on sleep, and—

_His feet hit something soft._

Something inside him leapt as he felt the snow that dusted the dormitory floor, hardly daring to believe it. He smacked himself, just for good measure. But this snow wasn't cold and wet; rather, it was pleasantly light and only slightly cool. It had to be Charmed, and in turn, someone had to have done this for him. Francis laughed, quickly throwing on some Muggle jeans and a shirt before opening the dormitory door and peering cautiously around it. Sure enough, there was a thick and fluffy carpet of snow forming a wide path in the floor, clearly marking where he was supposed to walk. Francis was unable to stop grinning, ducking back into his dormitory only to grab Arthur's present and then laughing again as he set off to follow the snowy road, eager to see where it went.

* * *

><p>"I never knew he would do <em>this<em>," Professor McGonagall scowled, glaring down at the charmed snow path that cut directly through the middle of the corridor. She prodded it with her foot in disapproval, but the old wizard next to her merely smiled.

"Let them have their fun, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly. "Arthur could do with some, you know."

"Oh, alright." McGonagall nodded grudgingly. "I'm making them clean it up, though," she concluded, sounding slightly sulky. Dumbledore laughed.

"I have no doubt you will," he assured her, just as a very happy Francis Bonnefoy came rounding the corner. He had a package tucked under his arm, and the smile on his face was priceless; it even brought a little one to McGonagall's stern face. Francis nodded to the two teachers in greeting, before dashing up the next staircase toward the Ravenclaw tower.

"How long do you think it'll be before they get together?" Dumbledore wondered aloud.

McGonagall blushed. "Headmaster, I hardly think that's necessary!"

Dumbledore just shrugged, smiling at the retreating figure of Francis as he started up another staircase.

Francis made it up to the spiral stairs in record time, and seeing the eagle knocker still asleep and snoring softly, took a moment to compose himself so that he was no longer on the verge of fangirl-worthy giggles every five seconds. With a long, relaxing sigh, he closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, much calmer, and poking the eagle knocker awake.

It yawned and glared at him indignantly. "What the hell do you want? It's four in the fucking morni-"

Francis smirked. "I want to see Arthur Kirkland," he replied to the question. The knocker glared at him, then sighed and let the door swing open.

"I'll let you through this time," it muttered.

But Francis wasn't listening.

The entire Ravenclaw common room was glistening with a thick blanket of soft, puffy snow, cascading down the branches of a beautiful Christmas tree in the corner and covering everything just as if it had fallen from the sky. Arthur must have gotten up so early to do this, Francis thought in awe.

Suddenly, as if right on cue, a very smug British voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Happy Christmas, frog," Arthur murmured. He stepped out from behind the tree, and Francis realized suddenly that he was only wearing his boxers and a baggy shirt. His eyes shimmered like the sun reflecting in water, the dim light from the dawn outside warming the side of his face, and in that one moment he looked so beautiful Francis found himself forgetting to breathe.

"Well? Do you like it?" Arthur asked hesitantly after a minute of silence, going almost straight from confident to unsure of himself, as though he was scared that Francis didn't approve. Francis smiled, going over to him and pulling him into a tight hug.

"_Oui_," he murmured. "_Merci_, _mon amour..._"

Arthur's arms found their way around his neck, and much to Francis's surprise, he hugged back.

"I have no idea what you're saying, but at least I know you like it," Arthur whispered. Francis could hear the smile in his voice, and gave Arthur one last squeeze before forcing himself to let go.

"Thank you so much," Francis said, this time in English, unable to resist the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Arthur grinned too, and on a sudden impulse, gave the frog one last hug.

"You're welcome," he murmured.

For a moment they stood there, just looking at each other next to the Christmas tree, before Francis smiled, taking Arthur's hand, and together the two of them flopped down on the couch.

"I have something for you, too," Francis murmured, handing Arthur the forgotten package that he'd grabbed for the dormitory. Arthur looked at it for a moment, smiling.

"Thanks, frog," he said quietly, carefully tearing off the wrapping paper and gasping when he saw what was inside.

Not only had Francis gotten him a huge set of colored pencils—he'd bought Arthur a beautiful new sketchbook. He pulled off the paper eagerly, running his fingertips gently over the front cover. The paper inside was thick and creamy, the cover sturdy and its empty white pages simply begging to be filled.

Arthur quickly opened the leather-bound sketchbook to see a note in the corner of the first page, written in Francis's loose, curvy hand.

_Arthur-_

_ I thought you might like a new sketchbook also, just for good measure. I hope you like it!_

_ Francis_

Arthur grinned, setting aside the sketchbook and looking up to see how nervous the frog looked; Francis was actually fidgeting a little, hands in his lap.

"Thank you," Arthur whispered, and right then and there, without even thinking, Arthur threw himself at Francis in a huge hug.

Francis gave a little gasp of surprise as he was tackled down on the couch, the strength of Arthur's embrace pushing him onto his back on the cushions, Arthur's slim, strong arms around his neck and his face buried in Francis's shoulder. Francis looked down at him for a moment, smiling, before sliding his arms around Arthur's waist and hugging him back tight. Oh, how he'd wanted to do this for so long, just to feel their bodies warming each other, and be able to cuddle his princess close without him flinching away.

Arthur mumbled something into Francis's chest, subconsciously snuggling closer. Francis smiled, rolling over just slightly and feeling their ankles entwine. His heart skipped a beat.

"You're nice and warm, frog," Arthur murmured, sounding happy. Francis smiled.

"You are too, _mon petit lapin_," he replied quietly.

Arthur sighed, relaxing into the embrace that was, to his surprise, actually quite comfortable. But a blush crept up his cheeks when he felt that frog's hand begin rubbing slow, warm circles into the small of his back, dangerously close to that _spot..._

He'd been hugged by Francis before, but hadn't ever really gotten a chance to stop and feel the Frenchman's arms around his waist or the warmth of his chest. When Francis shifted a little under him, Arthur could even feel the strong muscles ripple a little and blushed more, thinking of how skinny he was in comparison.

Francis smiled softly, closing his eyes, but not before he'd seen Arthur's light blush.

"You're very pretty when you blush, _amour_," He said quietly, a hint of amusement sneaking into his voice when he remembered that Arthur couldn't speak French—or, at least, not very well. He might've spoken enough to understand the parley he'd given in Astronomy at the beginning of the year, but then again...

Either way, Francis would rest assured; he could call Arthur by any nickname he fancied, and the Brit would never be any the wiser.

He sighed in disappointment when he felt Arthur sit up, rolling off his chest, to pick up his new sketchbook and box of colored pencils and begin to draw.

Neither of them spoke for most of that day; they were just happy for each other's company, sitting together on the couch, Arthur drawing to his heart's content and Francis sitting with his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. Arthur was nearly in his lap, but not quite, so they were pressed just close enough to warm each other but not so close it looked lewd. Francis wondered if Arthur's heart was racing as fast as his was.

Finally Arthur stood up and stretched, yawning widely. "I need to get some real clothes on if we're heading down to the feast tonight," he muttered.

It took a second for Francis to remember that the Brit was still wearing only a baggy shirt and his boxers, but then he smirked.

"Spending all that time cuddling with me, and yet you don't even bother to dress," Francis chided teasingly. Arthur flushed and smacked the frog's cheek.

"Quit smirking! I just forgot, that's all!"

"Very believable, _cher—_personally, I just consider it more layers between us..."

Another embarrassed smack. Arthur's face was burning scarlet by now, and he glared at Francis indignantly as he headed up to the dormitory.

"Fuck you, frog!" his voice called back.

"Gladly!" Francis replied brightly. A frustrated groan was the only response he got, before all was silent while he assumed Arthur was digging for some trousers in his trunk.

That is, until fifteen minutes had gone by and the Brit didn't reappear.

"Er... Arthur?" Francis finally called, beginning to get a bit worried. What could possibly be taking him this long? It wasn't as though Arthur fussed about what he wore—either not at all, or certainly not to this extent.

He stood from the couch and followed the Brit's footsteps, pushing the door to the boys' dormitory ajar.

He gasped in horror.

In front of him, at the Brit's feet, was the limp and mangled corpse of another Ravenclaw student; Francis recognized him vaguely as the dark-haired seventh year who carried around a panda bear all the time. But now the cute panda bear was no where to be found, and the boy was barely recognizable through the splatters of blood that puddled along the floor. There were raking, gory fang marks ripped into the dead flesh of his chest, punctured so widely that Francis could see straight through to the blood-soaked floor. His eyes were wide-open and staring in dead, rigid shock. His robes were torn and cool, lifeless blood was still dripping from every gaping wound.

Arthur stood next to the body, eyes squeezed shut tight. Even from here, Francis could see him quivering, and a tiny whimper escaped his lips. Francis ran over and gathered Arthur in his arms, holding him tight.

"Come on, _amour_, let's get out of here," he murmured, gently leading Arthur back toward the door. All Arthur could do was nod weakly, biting his lip so hard to keep from crying that a bead of blood trickled down his chin.

His stomach suddenly felt queasy, his head pounding and dizzy. He sat down next to the frog, letting his face rest in the soft shoulder, trying to calm down.

Francis saw the tears threatening to spill over as Arthur took long, shaky breaths in an attempt to stop them. He pulled the Brit into his warm lap and held his quivering body close.

"You can cry on me, if you want," he murmured. Arthur nodded and smiled weakly, finally allowing the hot tears to overflow and trickle down his pale cheeks. He buried his face in the curve between Francis's neck and shoulder, sobbing quietly and clinging to the frog like a lifeline. The churning, sick feeling in his stomach still hadn't gone away.

"We're alright, we're alright..." Francis whispered, cuddling Arthur even closer to him and feeling damp golden eyelashes close against his neck as more tears welled from underneath. Arthur took a deep, shaky breath and let it out just as slowly, trying to calm another sob.

Why did these things always seem to turn up when he least expected it? The headaches were normally a warning sign, but he hadn't had one all day, and the only memory skip he could bring to mind had happened yesterday; he hadn't woken up afraid, though, and had been in the same place where he'd begun, so he'd thought nothing of it. Everything had seemed alright, until...

Another wave of hot tears welled and slid down Francis's neck, and he hugged Arthur's shaking body close to him. He felt terrible for Arthur and horribly shaken from seeing the torn corpse, he just didn't know what he could do. Francis needed someone to hold on to, just as much as the Brit did.

"I don't think I want to go down to the feast," Arthur whimpered against his neck, and Francis hugged him tightly, shaking his head. He closed his eyes and gently pressed a kiss onto Arthur's messy blond hair.

"_Non_, _mon amour..._ I don't want to either."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: _"How long do you think it'll be before they get together?" Dumbledore wondered aloud._**

**Because we all know Dumbledore's gay. XD**

**Well, since they spent practically this entire chapter cuddling my brains out, I hope they loved on you too. I'll try to have fourteen up sooner, so... yep. That's it, eh? **

**Wait, no! Don't leave! I've got one more thing: Kumajiro has been commandeering my computer, and he's actually stopped asking who I am long enough to request more reviews. I almost feel guilty asking for more when you've all been so great to me already, but... please don't let him kill me?**

**Many Hugs and Love From Maple **


	14. Francis Hates Spiders

**A/N: OH! Record timing! I was on an 18-hour train ride last night, and this was the result. Alfred was sacked out and snoring, and Dad and Papa... well, they disappeared to the private lounge for a while, and when the came back they were all sweaty... So, yeah, I kind of needed a distraction.**

**Beware: Written at 1:30 in the morning on a very bumpy train ride. Read at own risk.**

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><p>Chapter Fourteen: Francis Hates Spiders<p>

"So your parents don't know about what's been going on this year?"

Patrick had come back to Hogwarts earlier than everyone else by about a week, because the first thing Arthur had done once he'd been able to calm down that night was send an owl directly to his friends; Gil had written back with uncharacteristic swiftness that he wanted to talk about this the second he got off the train, and Patrick had actually come back to school early after much begging and explaining to his parents. Now the redhead sat across from Arthur at the breakfast table, wearing an extremely worried expression as he surveyed his friend, looking for an answer.

Arthur's green eyes wouldn't meet his, and he shook his head. "Patrick—I just couldn't tell them, okay? They've got enough to worry about as it is, and the last thing they need is to have to be wondering whether I'm alright. And if any of my siblings found out, they'd never sleep until I came home for the year." He looked up at Patrick earnestly. "I have to take care of them. Even if I can't be there, I need to do what's best for them..."

Patrick smiled, a little sadly. He knew that being the oldest had taken its toll on Artie, pressuring him to grow into a third-parent role far too early in life and forcing his mind to mature far beyond what it should have been. When they'd both been in only their first year here at Hogwarts, Arthur had already acted like he was fifteen years old. He'd even told Patrick before that he felt much older than his age. Patrick wondered how he could take it, living with all those siblings and having to get a summer job every year while everyone else talked about the amazing places they were going for vacation. But another thing that amazed him about Arthur was that he never complained about it; he loved his family above all else, regardless of how much they cost him.

"I still think you should write them," Patrick murmured. "But honestly, I wouldn't want to either. Just do what you think is best, alright, Artie? I trust your judgment."

Arthur smiled, looking tired and a little relieved. "Thanks, Patrick. I'm glad somebody does. And besides—" he looked around nervously, as though someone would overhear. "—they would probably make me come home. I don't want to leave Hogwarts."

"I don't want you to either, _cher_," interrupted a smooth French accent from just over Arthur's shoulder. Patrick looked up just in time to see Francis sit down beside his best friend, smirking a bit when he noticed one of the Frenchman's hands sneaking around Arthur's shoulders.

Arthur gave Francis a quick smile in greeting. "Hey, frog," he smirked.

"Oh, _cherie_, you wound me so!" Francis teased, rubbing smooth, warm circles into Arthur's shoulder with his thumb. "And here I thought you'd actually started thinking of me as _Francis _instead of a slimy amphibian..."

"You're definitely not slimy," Patrick added, trying and failing to hide a grin. He had to admit that the fangirls were right in their speculations—and in their fainting over the cute couple in denial. His grin widened evilly as he spoke. "Since Arthur clearly doesn't mind you touching him."

Although Patrick had expected Arthur to explode or at least blush at this comment, exactly the opposite happened; Arthur shrugged and actually smiled as Francis nuzzled him.

"You're right, Patrick—I don't mind."

Two girls behind them squealed loudly and collapsed in the middle of the floor. The blond one was madly snapping photos.

"But _don't let that give you any ideas!_" Arthur quickly added, tapping Francis's nose with each word. The frog smirked.

"Wouldn't dream of it, _mon petit lapin_."

"Good, because neither would I, frog."

"_Doubt_-ful," Patrick sang from behind his hand, trying not to laugh. Arthur glared at him.

"Patrick, have I woken up screaming lately?" he asked sarcastically.

"No..." Patrick answered, confused.

"Well then I obviously haven't been dreaming of Francis," Arthur smirked triumphantly.

"Because we both know why you'd be screaming if you were dreaming of me," Francis slunk in, smirking evilly. Arthur opened his mouth to reply with something snappy, then realized what that _bloody fucking frog _had just hinted, reddened, and smacked him full across the face.

Francis was still laughing when Arthur ran from the hall, face burning as red as one of Antonio's tomatoes.

* * *

><p>It had been a full week since Francis and Arthur had had the little... er, <em>issue<em> over breakfast, by the end of which their Christmas break had ended and normal classes started up again. Gil was constantly pestering Arthur for details of what had happened when he'd found the corpse in his dormitory, when all Arthur really wanted was to forget. The news of the incident spread like wildfire, when Arthur just wished it would go away. And Francis wasn't talking to him, but Arthur was too proud to go and admit he needed that frog more than he'd thought.

Overall, the week had sucked.

Arthur had been feeling sick and shaky since Gil's last questioning session just before dinner, remembering the horrible dead eyes, the gaping wounds torn clear through the body and blood leaking as shattered bones punctured through the skin of its chest. He swallowed hard, stomach churning and queasy, and suddenly the scent of the food in front of him made a sour taste begin rising in his throat.

"You okay, mate?" Patrick asked, looking at him with concern. "You look a little sick."

Arthur just nodded mutely, then forced his mouth to open. "Be back," he muttered, before quickly getting up and rushing from the Great Hall.

Only Francis Bonnefoy noticed him leave.

"Just a minute," he muttered to Gil, setting down his fork and rising from the table. He hurried after Arthur, breaking into a run as the Brit disappeared from his sight. A few minutes later he followed Arthur into the bathroom just in time to see the smaller boy stand up unsteadily, wiping his mouth. Oh, _Dieu..._ Had he really been that sick? He looked pale and sweaty, hands shaking slightly as he leaned back against the side of the stall for support.

"Are you alright?" Francis murmured quietly. Arthur shook his head miserably.

"No," he whispered, voice breaking.

Francis felt his heart crack for the Brit and ran over to him, cuddling Arthur's quivering body against his own. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the messy blond hair. Arthur shook his head into Francis's chest, burying his face farther into the rose-scented fabric of his robes.

"Not your fault," he muttered shakily; and it wasn't. Francis held him close, warming him out of the cold sweat he'd broken into and helping him stand when his knees were weak.

They stood like that for a long time, before Francis finally felt Arthur stop shaking and pulled away.

"I-I needed that," Arthur smiled sheepishly. "Thanks, Francis."

"So I'm not _frog_ anymore, am I?" Francis teased fondly as they made their way out of the bathroom, putting an arm around Arthur and smiling when he nuzzled into it.

"Nope," Arthur murmured simply, before breaking away and starting off toward the Ravenclaw dormitories.

* * *

><p>"So you're sure no one went in or out of the common room except you and Francis?" Gil asked for what seemed like the millionth time that hour. He, Francis and Arthur sat side-by-side in the very back row of Potions class, completely ignoring their professor in favor of having the same old conversation over again for the sixteenth time and running. Yesterday Arthur would've felt sick again, talking about this, but with Francis next to him stirring their cauldron, suddenly it didn't seem so bad.<p>

"I already told you, Gil, there was no one there but us, _all day_. We've been over this before," Arthur replied irritably, shaking his head. Gilbert sat with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face, crimson eyes shut halfway in a determined glare. He finally slammed his face into the desk in utter, un-awesome defeat.

"Fuck this. I give up," he mumbled.

"Amen," Arthur muttered dryly, adding something to their cauldron and nodding approvingly as Francis stirred.

The frog just smiled.

The rest of the class passed uneventfully, save for a runaway tarantula scuttling around and alarming a good portion of the students. Arthur was amused to see Francis withhold a girly screech and delicately curl up in his chair, carefully climbing onto the desk when the spider rose on its hind legs to try and climb up to reach him.

"Get. That. Thing. Away. _Now_," Francis managed, staring at it with complete and pure terror. Arthur laughed, sitting back to enjoy the show as the spider leapt at the desk legs and Francis, in turn, squeaked in panic. He turned to Arthur, looking as desperate as though he were about to get his head bitten off by a dragon and the Brit was his only hope.

"_S'il vous plait_, _mon amour_!" he pleaded.

Arthur finally relented, smacking the thing flat with his Potions book and laughing when Francis still refused to come down until he was _absolutely sure _the spider was dead.

"I didn't know you hated spiders," Arthur said offhandedly as they left the classroom, trying desperately to choke down a laugh.

Francis just snorted and shot him a glare.

"Remember Astronomy tonight," he reminded icily, before sweeping off in the direction of the Charms classroom, leaving the still-laughing Arthur to start off for Herbology.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, today wasn't a Friday; it was Tuesday, which meant Arthur wouldn't be able to sleep in tomorrow morning, to make up for missing the extra hour for Astronomy. All the same, he pulled himself groggily out of bed an hour early and trudged up to the Prefects' bathroom for the annual routine.<p>

He slid into the warm water of the huge bathtub, sighing at the tingling, almost _fuzzy _sensation of the heat engulfing him, and almost immediately dove under to lie on the bottom and examine the rippling surface from below. It shone and flowed like a liquid mirror, reflecting his own face back and also letting him see the room beyond, lit by a warm golden glow.

Arthur blew a bubble, letting it float upward like a silvery sphere and then trying to grab it again, sealing his hands over the top of it. It still slipped through, rippling up toward the surface and bursting through in a shower of silver drops. Arthur swam up, following the bubble, and broke back into air again, gasping and smiling. There was nothing better than all this wonderful, warm water, all to himself. He filled his lungs with air and lay back to float free.

But suddenly the door opened, and Arthur jumped, quickly hiding up to his neck beneath the water as the blast of cool air hit him. He flushed brilliant red when he saw who it was, quickly curling into a tight ball.

"F-Francis!" he hissed, angry and embarrassed. What if the frog saw how skinny he was?

Wait—why would he care what Francis thought of what he looked like?

"What spell did you use?" Arthur spat, blushing even deeper when he saw that Francis wasn't wearing anything but his outer robe; his clothes were all tucked under one arm.

"The door was unlocked," Francis replied confusedly. Oh, shit. Arthur had forgotten to lock it behind him! Then the frog chuckled. "My, my. Fancy seeing you here, _mon amour_..."

"_Don't you even start_," Arthur threatened ominously. Francis smirked but fell silent, all the same. He moved to pull off his robe, and Arthur made a noise like a small animal being strangled.

Francis stopped. "Something wrong, _cher_?"

"You—me—no, bloody hell, no—" Arthur spluttered, curling up into a tighter ball. "You'll fucking _rape _me—"

Francis chuckled again and shook his head, pulling off the robe and letting it fall to the ground. Arthur quickly averted his eyes, face burning scarlet.

"Put it back on, frog! Oh, shit! I don't want to see—"

Francis strode to the edge of the pool and slipped in. "You have been skinny dipping with Patrick or Gil, _non_?" he asked, moving forward as Arthur scrambled back like a terrified animal.

He crawled back against the wall, cowering. "Well, yes, but—this is _different_—"

"How so, _cher_?" Francis asked, reaching out to trail a finger over Arthur's perfect jaw. The Brit shivered and smacked it away.

"Just—look away, I'm getting out."

"_Oui_," Francis sighed. "As you wish."

But that didn't stop him from watching through hooded eyes as Arthur quickly climbed out, scurrying to get on his clothes. Even though he didn't get to see much, Francis caught glimpses of some very nice, lean thighs and toned lower back. Arthur's shoulders were slim, but muscled. Overall, he had a very nice body. Francis didn't see why he was in such a hurry to hide it.

Finally Arthur was dressed, and Francis climbed out of the pool with absolutely no shame in showing himself off. Arthur blushed, stuttering furiously that he'd better get some clothes on _now_, or else. Eventually they managed to both be fully dressed and out in the corridor, heading up to Astronomy. Arthur was left to wonder why he'd felt himself getting a little hot, seeing Francis strutting about the bathroom, making a huge deal over finding each article of his clothing. He shook his head. It must just be that it was late, and he was tired, and...

Well, he wasn't about to go_ there_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, here's to another promise of end-of-the-year smut! God, I love Artie so much when he's being all parental and concerned over his little siblings. Idea credits for the last scene to Megan Lo Saurus, for planting the seed of pervertedness in my mind to begin with... **

**Reviews are always welcome! Any tips or constructive criticism, just chuck it my way! **


	15. The Kitten

**A/N: Well, here it is - the last chapter within T rating boundaries. I'm so glad I got this up sooner than some of the others have been, although it does seem a bit filler-ish. Trust me, next chapter will be a ton more... well, _interesting_, as Papa would say.**

**Anyway, if you're looking this up, it will be rated M next chapter. So, just beware. **

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><p>Chapter Fifteen: The Kitten<p>

Arthur sat in study hall, smiling slightly as he worked on a Potions essay supposed to have been due yesterday. He'd had..._ other _things to worry about for the past five weeks. At the top of that list had been avoiding the frog, since the fateful bathroom incident before Astronomy, but Francis had tracked him down just after dinner yesterday after over a month of awkwardness, and that had been the end of that. It was becoming increasingly impossible for Arthur to stay angry with the Frenchman; lately he'd even started forgetting to call him 'frog' sometimes. It would've been disturbing, but then again, at the moment Arthur was warm and comfortable.

He didn't know when it had become a habit of his to cuddle up to Francis, but ever since the Transfiguration lecture just before Christmas and their reinstated friendship, it seemed to have become routine for the two of them to need that closeness. Their ankles would end up looped together when they sat next to each other, or sometimes Arthur would catch himself holding the frog's hand in the corridors. It was a kind of reassurance; despite his frequent headaches and the memory blanks growing longer and darker, Arthur always felt safer when Francis's warmth was next to him.

Now, the two of them sat with their legs entwined under the table, exchanging little smiles as though they knew a secret no one else did. Arthur's heart was beating unusually fast, stomach jolting a little whenever he looked up to see Francis's blue eyes lock with his. He hadn't gotten much done on the essay, but he didn't mind; the warmth of their legs was pleasantly distracting.

Francis smiled, pushing a small scrap of parchment across the table and into Arthur's palm. The Brit looked at it quizzically for a moment, then turned it over to reveal a note on the other side.

_Want to leave early? McGonagall said we could._

Arthur smirked and nodded, pressing the note back into Francis's hand. He rose from the table, gathered his books, and together the two of them escaped out into the corridor.

"Thanks," Arthur muttered as the door shut behind them. "It was just too quiet in there."

Francis nodded. "I thought we should get away from the girls, too," he smirked. "They were liking us a little _too_ much, if you know what I mean, _amour._"

Arthur laughed. "That I do, Francis." He fell into step beside the Frenchman, taking his hand and glancing out one of the windows at the February gale ripping through the thick snowdrifts outside. He smiled. "Looks like you finally got your snow," he said.

It had been nearly a month since any attacks had happened, and also nearly a month since his last disappearance. Even though he was having nasty headaches and more frequent memory loss, Arthur was beginning to feel safe again. Francis gave his hand a squeeze.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he murmured. It was also Valentine's Day—but of course, he wasn't about to remind Arthur of that if this was to go as planned. He had to hope that the Brit hadn't bothered to glance at the calendar this morning. Arthur looked at him, one eyebrow quirked and demanding an explanation. Francis took a breath and continued. "It's also a Hogsmeade weekend. Do you have any other plans?"

Arthur froze. Oh God, oh God, oh holy fucking God... this better not have been a date. On _Valentine's Day_, nonetheless_. _He didn't know why the notion of a date was the first thought that came to mind, but it did—and it put him in panic mode. Feeling sure he was dooming himself to certain death, he slowly shook his head. "No, I guess I'm free... why?"

Francis just shrugged nonchalantly, though his heart was racing fast as he carefully let go of Arthur's hand. "Well, I know that Tonio's spending the day with his boyfriend, so he obviously won't want me around, and... I don't know what Gil's doing, but I think we can both assume it's nothing we'd want to see."

Arthur's heart lifted, and he laughed at this. Good—so it wasn't a date, or anything even mildly romantic. Maybe the frog had just forgotten about February the 14th altogether. Francis laughed too, before finally getting to the point.

"So, I don't really have anyone to go with at the moment, and I don't want to turn up alone. Will you come with me?"

Arthur smiled, nodding. "Sure thing. Nine tomorrow morning, then?"

Francis nodded too, trying to keep his cool when on the inside he was secretly throwing a party. "Nine-thirty," he smirked. "I'll come get you at breakfast, _mon amour_."

"Nine-thirty it is," Arthur agreed, before turning to watch Francis sprint away the corridor with a new and mysterious spring in his step.

* * *

><p>Gil's mouth hung open in amazement.<p>

"You managed to get _Artie fucking Kirkland _to go on a date with you. On Valentine's Day. Somebody smack me."

Francis had just finished telling his friend the news, a huge smile refusing to leave his face and his stomach fluttering a little at the thought of his sly little plan. He nodded.

"But he doesn't know it's a date," he explained excitedly. "He just thinks it's because I don't have anyone else to go with."

Gil still looked at him incredulously, shaking his head. "I still don't believe this. He must like you a little bit, at least, or otherwise that selective brain of his would've picked it out from a mile away. The _Awesome Me_ hasn't even been able to pull one over on him in all six years I've known him!" Gil flopped back on the couch in a mild huff. Then he grinned, leaning forward. "So, what're you gonna do tomorrow?"

Francis shrugged mildly, then bit his lip to keep from laughing and took a long, steadying breath. He let it out slowly, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. So he was going on a date with Arthur Kirkland. Alone, in Hogsmeade. On Valentine's Day. No big deal. No big deal...

WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE TELLING HIMSELF? Francis's grin returned, and he tasted metallic blood as he clamped his teeth down on his tongue to keep from giggling like a fangirl. IT _WAS_ A BIG DEAL!

* * *

><p>The next day, Francis was awake and pacing at four in the morning.<p>

He strode recklessly back and forth across the dormitory, thinking anxiously about the day ahead. Now that he was faced with the actual date, it was beginning to scare him. What if he did something wrong and gave away the plan, and that made Arthur mad? Where was the line drawn between 'friendly outing' and 'date', anyway? What if there was no line?

Gah—he couldn't sleep for the life of him.

Francis pulled on some Muggle clothes, making sure to spend a little more time than usual. Even if this wasn't a date, he wanted to look nice for Arthur.

He somehow managed to occupy two long, worrisome hours until breakfast opened at six, and the second as his watch got past 5:59 AM, he was off and striding up the stairs toward the Great Hall, even though he felt too nervous to eat anything. He didn't know why he'd already grabbed his coat this early, but it just seemed like a good idea. Francis just needed something to do, or he thought he might explode from excitement and worry and anticipation and uneasiness and second-guessing himself more in these few short hours that he had in the rest of his life combined. Francis was buried in thought as he started down the next corridor, so it most certainly wasn't something he was expecting when he rounded a corner and was full-on tackled by a very startled Arthur.

"Oh, good God, I'm sorry," Arthur stuttered, trying to untangle himself from Francis enough to crawl free of the heap of limbs they'd become, lying together in the middle of the floor.

Francis smirked. "Don't be, _ma cherie_," he replied, finally managing to untangle himself from the mess. Arthur sighed, lying flopped next to him on the cool stone. Francis looked at the Brit out of the corner of his eye, and sure enough, the first thing he saw was the familiar sparkle of those green eyes. "What were you doing, anyway?"

Arthur fidgeted sheepishly. "Running," he mumbled.

"Really?" Francis deadpanned knowingly.

Arthur sighed. "Fine. I was getting away from the blond fangirl who's been stalking me with a camera all morning."

"That makes much more sense," Francis agreed. "_Merci_."

But then something seemed to occur to him. "Maybe we should... leave? Before she gets here?"

Arthur looked at him gratefully. "My thoughts exactly, frog," he replied, before leaping up from the floor and helping Francis to his feet. Arthur motioned for Francis to follow him, the familiar smirk back in place. Together the two of them dashed off down the corridor, eager to get out of this castle and into the snowy village just beyond the grounds.

Arthur grabbed Francis's wrist and dragged him up a staircase. "This way," he smirked. "I know a shortcut."

"Is that so, _cher_?" Francis asked, sprinting along beside him. Arthur just grinned evilly.

"Just because I'm a Ravenclaw doesn't mean I don't know my share of tricks," he said, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. Francis immediately decided he loved that cheeky look.

The two boys made it up to the statue of the one-eyed witch in record time, but Arthur swore loudly just as they climbed down into the passage below, which Francis had been amazed to find in the first place.

"Where does this go?" he'd asked.

Arthur had smirked. "Honeydukes' cellar," he'd replied with a grin.

Now the Brit had stopped dead, looking as though he was torn between going back and heading onward.

"_Quoi_?" Francis asked blankly.

"Forgot the damn invisibility cloak," Arthur replied under his breath. He looked at the frog for a second opinion. "Think we'll be okay without it?"

Francis shrugged, though now he looked a little edgy. "That fangirl will be along at any second, so I'd say we'll survive without it."

Arthur hesitated a moment longer, then turned to follow Francis into the depths of the earthen tunnel.

"We'll be fine without it," he concluded.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the coolness of wet stone and soil and stale air pressing in on them, but it wasn't a bad smell. Francis had always liked the chill, earthen scent of the inside of a cave; it was pure and natural and hollow, but not fresh. There had to be some way to describe it, he knew, but he just hadn't figured out the words for it yet.

To put it simply, it smelled like a cave.

"How did you know about this, _cher_?" Francis asked offhandedly. "There's no information about any secret passages, anywhere in the school."

Arthur just kept walking with a shrug. "I needed to hide one time in second year, so I went behind that statue, and ended up bumping it just right so I could get in. I don't know—but I've been coming here ever since."

He looked at Francis, green eyes shimmering brightly in the fuzzy darkness of the passage, and smiled. Francis found his breath catching in his throat at the intense beauty.

Arthur was indeed a fallen angel.

"Quit staring, frog," Arthur stabbed, but it was gentler than usual. He grabbed Francis's wrist again, already bruised from his previous steel grip, and this time slid his hand down to those long fingers when he noticed the Frenchman wince. Arthur smirked and dragged Francis ahead.

Meanwhile, he had no idea how much Francis wanted to pull him back and kiss him, _hard_. Francis wondered what he would taste like...

With a shiver, he snapped himself out of it and satisfied himself with giving Arthur's hand a squeeze. His stomach leapt when Arthur squeezed back with a smile over his shoulder. His green eyes still glowed.

The passage curved, and soon they had made their way out of a hole in Honeydukes' cellar floor and snuck through the crowded candy shop into the snowy street beyond.

This was a very heavy snow for early February, but if anything, it just lifted Arthur's spirits further; he laughed as Francis pulled him toward the Three Broomsticks, where they went inside to warm up and have a drink. It wasn't until the first girl fainted that they realized they were sitting with their legs entwined.

Next stop for Arthur was the book shop—of course. Francis tagged along, teasing him lightly the entire way. After that, a very happy frog and a grumbling Arthur headed over the Quidditch supply store. Any place that looked appealing was explored, including the Apothecary, post office, and a U-turn to get back to Honeydukes'. It was toward dusk that Arthur insisted on taking Francis to see the Shrieking Shack, since that was the only place in the little village that the Frenchman apparently hadn't explored yet.

It was there, that for some reason neither really remembered afterward, the two of them ended up laughing and wrestling in the cold, thick snow.

Arthur shoved Francis's shoulder, successfully managing to tackle the other boy down so he was sitting on top for a change. He spluttered as a frigid, wet wad of half-melted slush was shoved in his face, but didn't give up until he'd done the same to Francis. Arthur fell, laughing next to him in the snowdrift that was ruined from their fighting. Arthur was grinning in spite of himself, shaking his head. The frog sat up, spitting some excess snow out his mouth and laughing as he shook it out of his soaking blond hair, hanging drenched to frame his cheekbones.

Blue eyes sparkled with pure joy.

"Call it a draw, shall we?" Francis asked. Arthur shrugged, falling back and then remembering he was lying in almost-melted snow without a coat and jolting back up when a few frigid drops rolled down the back of his neck.

Francis laughed, and Arthur was just about to punch him again when a tiny sound caught his ear. Apparently the frog had heard it too; both of them froze, halting all bodily functions as they strained their ears to hear the sound again.

Another tiny mew for help floated up from the bushes, and Arthur slowly stood up, looking around for whatever poor creature must have been left out in this freezing cold.

"What is it?" Francis murmured, standing up also and getting down on his hands and knees to look. But Arthur was already a step ahead of him.

He parted the thorny bushes, suddenly feeling his heart wrench when he saw what was making the sad noises. A soft gasp from beside him let him know that Francis saw it too.

Tangled in the thorn bushes was a tiny, bedraggled kitten.

Its fur was mostly black with a white splotch on its chest, and soaking wet. The little kitten was shivering, and so thin Arthur could almost see its ribs through the thick and sopping layer of fur. Its wide, beautiful golden eyes stared innocently out at him, as though completely unaware of its misery.

"_Mon Dieu_..." Francis whispered.

Arthur reached out to gently pull the kitten from its tangle of thorns, lifting the sad little thing and bringing it close against his chest. The kitten gave another small shiver and a mew of thanks, curling up close to him with its tail quivering as it wrapped it pathetically around its paws in an attempt to keep warm.

"Poor little thing," Francis breathed, curling around the kitten and Arthur to stroke its head with warm, gentle hands. "I wonder how long it's been out here..."

Arthur hugged the soaked little kitten, and despite its shivering and clear hunger, it began to purr.

"Oh, my God..." Arthur murmured, feeling terrible for the kitten and wrapping it inside his cloak. With the icy little lump purring loudly against his chest, he suddenly realized that with how cold he himself was, he really wouldn't be helping the kitten warm up much, either.

Francis seemed to notice this too.

He quickly placed two warm fingers against Arthur's neck, as though feeling for a pulse, but then pulled away, shaking his head like a mother hen. "Arthur, you're cold as ice," he said chidingly, pulling off his coat.

"You don't have to—" Arthur tried to protest, but Francis pressed a gentle finger to his lips.

"But I want to, _amour_," he finished, wrapping his coat around Arthur's shoulders and smiling with satisfaction when the Brit visibly relaxed a bit from the body heat left inside it. The kitten purred even more loudly and rubbed Arthur's chin as it was engulfed by the warm folds of fabric.

Arthur looked down lovingly at the kitten. Its fuzzy black face was adorably lopsided, with a white moustache as though it had been very sloppy with the milk. The white fur dribbled down its chin, spreading out across its chest, and formed a trail of fluffy white splotches all down its tummy. Bright golden eyes gazed eagerly up at him, even as the pathetically thin kitten's body shook from cold.

Quite frankly, Arthur had never seen anything so adorably heartbreaking in his life.

"Let's get you home," he murmured to it, kissing its forehead.

Francis and Arthur started back for Honeydukes', managing to sneak down through the cellar with no issues, and get back up to the Ravenclaw dormitories without getting spotted by Filch. They spent a while sitting together on Arthur's bed, taking turns hugging the kitten, and Francis snuck out to change into dry robes and grab some food for it from the kitchens long after curfew had already come and gone.

Arthur lay back, smiling as the now warm, dry, and well-fed kitten curled up in the crook of his arm, still purring away.

As he was drifting off to sleep, he realized that it still didn't have a name. He smiled.

"Oh well," he whispered, stroking its soft black head. "We'll deal with that in the morning."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I think I just becuted myself... But anyway.**

**WARNING: The beginning of next chapter WILL be a smut scene. Fragmented, but smut all the same. If you don't want to read the smut, I ADVISE YOU TO SKIP THAT PART OF THE CHAPTER. You've been warned!**

**Also, many thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Your input and encouragement is much appreciated!**


	16. Kiss it, Make it Better

**A/N: Gyahhh, this took foreeeeever to write! Sincere apologies to all my readers. I got a little carried away with the smut, too, so... honhonhon. **

**WARNING: This chapter is sexually charged _like you wouldn't believe._ Read at own risk; I'm not responsible for any mental scarring and/or smut addiction.**

**TO THE REST OF YOU: Go ahead and enjoy! Knock yourselves out from nosebleed...**

* * *

><p>Chapter Sixteen: Kiss it, Make it Better<p>

_"Oh, my God—!"_

_ Arthur screamed, clutching tightly at the bedsheets and arching his back. His hips bucked upward desperately, and he let out another mindless yell, that scent all around, another body sweaty and hard against his own, a low voice purring rough words of praise in his ear as he felt wave after wave of violent, soul-eating pleasure rip through him. He was being fucked through the mattress, each bruising thrust making his legs twitch, toes curl and body scream for more. White stars danced in front of his eyes, and he gasped, moaning desperately and throwing his head back into the pillow as his voice grew louder and louder. He heard the lewd slapping of skin on skin, fingers tightening down on his hips and yanking them upward to drive even deeper than before._

_ "Fuck—FRANCIS! Yes! Hnnnnn... _More!_" Another ragged scream of satisfaction and pure, scorching pleasure tore from his lips._

_ Heat was searing through him, eating away everything until nothing was left of the world but skin, sweat and white. The ragged stream of breathless murmurs continued, pausing only to gasp and moan._

_ "Look at you, Arthur, screaming my name... spread for me, flushed and sexy..."_

_ Arthur yelled again, feeling even more precum seep and dribble down his length as Francis pulled one of his twitching legs over his shoulder, slamming into his prostate dead-on and making his whole body jerk as his hips acted of their own accord, pushing him closer, making him scream louder..._

_ "God—so good! Holy— AaaAAH! I'm—so close!" he panted, breaking off for oxygen at every other word. Francis was slamming into him again and again, groaning long and loud, and Arthur gasped when fingers wrapped around his cock to stroke in time with the thrusts. He writhed, legs twitching and spasming uncontrollably, clawing desperately at the pillow with weakened hands._

_ "Hnnn, oh, FUCK YES!" he yelped as Francis nailed his prostate another time, sending his __nerves short-circuiting, making him jerk all over. A ragged chuckle from above him._

_ "You like that, Arthur?"_

_ Another pointed slam. The heat was just too much, ripping away everything and coiling inside him, ready to snap at any second—he felt himself leak more precum, nearly a steady stream by now, losing control of his muscles—his legs were jerking, hips bucking and ass squeezing and twitching uncontrollably around Francis's rock-hard length—Arthur writhed and groaned, feeling the release coming, needing it, desperate for it, or he would _die_—_

_ "FRANCIS!"_

Arthur's eyes snapped open.

He was panting heavily, the covers twisted around his legs and sweat trickling down his forehead. The kitten was resting against his headboard, looking at him with curious apprehension. Arthur tried to relax as his breath came in short, ragged gasps, flopping back and fingering his cool emerald ring as he suddenly realized whose name he had been screaming—that a month ago, he would've denied ever even having such thoughts in the first place. But now... He groaned as he guiltily tried to hang on to some of the heated waves of pleasure, fading quickly even as he lay here with the sticky covers twined around him like a straightjacket and his heart thudding heavy and fast against his ribs.

But just when Arthur thought the diminishing sensations were gone, he flushed bright red as he realized exactly what damage that dream had done to him—and not only in his head. In his _pants_.

He was hard.

_Very _hard.

He sighed, looking around at the other sleeping boys in his dormitory as the gray light of predawn glowed on the horizon. Patrick was sprawled over his mattress, sacked out completely, and the other three weren't much better. Still—better safe than sorry.

"Be back in a bit," Arthur told the kitten quietly, giving its head a quick stroke, before getting up awkwardly and heading out the door.

* * *

><p>Arthur hummed in relief and settled back against the pool wall, swishing his hand around in the water to clean it of his sticky white sperm. He'd headed to the prefects' bathroom immediately, made sure to <em>lock the door behind him <em>this time, and finished himself off to guilty thoughts of Francis. Oddly enough, the dream was still fresh and clear in his head, not fading like it should've been. He felt his face burning even though no one could see the inside of his mind, and besides, there was no one here except him, anyway.

Finally climbing out of the pool, Arthur stretched luxuriously and pulled a towel from the rack. The mermaid on the wall giggled at him, waving her tail a little.

Arthur glared at her. "Fuck off," he muttered, before turning away and rubbing the towel over his messy blond hair, now darkened from the water rolling in little droplets down his back. He checked his watch, to find that almost an hour had gone by. Arthur sighed, shaking his head. It was both amazing and pathetic how he could get so lost in thoughts of Francis, and not come up for what seemed like years to get a breath of reality. He really needed to stop that.

Finally pulling on his clothes and still feeling a little tingly with the aftereffects of the dream, Arthur went back up to the dormitory and emerged with the little kitten draped happily over his shoulder like a fuzzy, purring parrot. He tickled her nose absentmindedly as he made his way down the empty corridor, knowing what he had to do and dreading it immensely. If he didn't want his friendship with Francis to terminate for good this time, because Arthur wouldn't ever be able to speak to him again without blushing and stuttering, there was only one thing to do. Arthur's face flushed with embarrassment at the simple thought.

He had to tell Francis about the dream.

But then again, was there an alternative...? If Arthur didn't have to tell the frog, he wouldn't, but—

"_PALM TO HEAAAAAAD!_"

Arthur jumped a foot in the air.

Gil had come bounding out of nowhere, flying at him screaming his war cry like a demon from the sky. Arthur felt a hard palm come into contact with the back of his head just before Gil landed in front of him, straightening his shirt like it was the most normal thing in the world to come diving from thin air and karate chop your best friend in greeting.

They stood there for a moment. Gil finally broke the silence with his usual slightly-demented grin that always gave the notion he was about to dump a Filibuster firework down your shirt.

"Nice cat. You should name it Fritzdeugen."

He reached up to scratch behind the kitten's ears, and she nudged him happily. Arthur sighed resignedly, facepalmed and kept walking.

"No, I'm serious," Gilbert insisted, hurrying along beside him. "You have to name it Fritzdeugen!"

Again, Arthur barely withheld a defeated groan. Would someone please remind him how he'd gotten to be friends with this crazy idiot in the first place? He almost made Francis seem sane...

Oh, shit. Speaking of Francis—there he was now, sitting at the Slytherin table laughing along with his little group of fans. Not all of them were girls, and not all of them were in the same house as Francis, either. Arthur noticed Matthew in the crowd, but the shy Gryffindor quickly hurried away when he noticed Gil coming in for a landing, face bright as one of Antonio's tomatoes. Arthur felt a brief pang of sympathy for him and the hopeless, messy crush he'd gotten into, but that was quickly drowned out by the dread and humiliation he felt as soon as he was within twenty meters of Francis.

His face was flushed in embarrassment, and Arthur suddenly felt as though everyone was watching him as he nervously poked Francis's shoulder and the Frenchman looked up questioningly, blue eyes as clear and deep as ever. This observation did not help things.

Arthur cleared his throat, still blushing profusely. "Er, frog... I need to talk to you," he mumbled sheepishly.

"_Ouais_," Francis replied curiously, knowing instinctively that something had to be wrong. Arthur's face was flushed in embarrassment and his green eyes darted around, refusing to meet Francis's. He rose from the table, still watching Arthur with concern.

"I'll be back," he told the group of people, many of whom were eying Arthur and Francis with something bordering on awe. Another sixth year—Kiku Honda, Francis thought his name was—had a little blood trickling from his nose.

As soon as Francis turned back around, he felt Arthur's hand clamp down on his wrist and the two of them and Fritzdeugen ran away, only stopping once they were halfway up the first staircase and well away from the Great Hall.

"What happened?" Francis immediately asked, sounding worried. "Did another attack turn up?"

Arthur didn't reply, but blushed a deeper shade of scarlet when he felt the frog slip his wrist from his grip, only to lace their fingers together. Francis looked at him with concern.

"Where are we going, _mon amour_?"

"Somewhere the fangirls can't find us," Arthur replied sheepishly, though he left no room for argument.

Even now, he was wondering what he was getting himself into.

* * *

><p>For some odd reason, the Room of Requirement had decided to equip itself with a bed.<p>

Arthur's face had flushed even deeper red than Francis had thought was humanly possible, but even so, he'd led the Brit over and the two of them had settled cross-legged, sitting across from each other on the cozy comforter. Fritzdeugen purred happily, kneading the bed with her claws, before curling up into a small ball next to Francis's knee.

The only thing uncomfortable was Arthur.

Francis watched him closely for a moment, noticing how the beautiful green eyes refused to meet his own, the hands twisting tensely in his lap and the slim, unrelaxed shoulders. Something was seriously bothering him. After a full minute of total silence, Francis finally spoke.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" he asked.

The Brit took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and forced words out of his mouth. "Promise you won't tease me?" he asked.

"Of course not," Francis replied, still confused and a little concerned.

"I... had a dream," Arthur muttered after a moment of severely awkward silence, face burning.

Francis looked at him for a second before giving him the gentle shove he needed to get going. "_Oui..._?"

Arthur finally met his eyes. "It was about you."

And then everything came spilling out. When the frog asked about it, Arthur even told him the details he still remembered about the sex. Soon the blush faded from his cheeks, and they were discussing this issue like two teenage girls talking about a crush on a hot guy. Suddenly it didn't seem so bad.

"Well," Francis finally concluded, looking at Arthur with a shrug. "You had a dream. That's all there is to it."

"A dream of sex with _you in it_," Arthur bit back, a little bit of his embarrassment and worry creeping back. He felt so dirty—who had gay, nasty, kinky dreams about shagging their best friend?

Francis sighed. "I don't think that's my fault, _cher_," he replied quietly. "Everyone has dreams like that at some point or another, me included. It's normal."

Arthur bit his lip, looking over at the Frenchman who was staring down at his lap, quietly contemplating something, and suddenly it struck him how handsome Francis really was, with his wavy blond hair falling around his face and blue eyes slightly glazed in thought. Before Arthur even knew what he was doing, he had crawled into Francis's lap, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck and burying his face in the warm shoulder. He let his legs rest around the taller boy's waist, needing the contact and needing the warmth. Francis's wonderful scent flooded his lungs as he was finally able to relax, running his fingers through the silky blond waves and letting his body slacken against Francis's strong chest.

Francis hugged him close.

"Dammit, frog, how do you do these things to me?" Arthur whispered, suddenly sounding very small and lonely.

"How do you mean, _mon beau amour_?" Francis answered quietly, rubbing soft circles into his slim back.

Arthur took a shaky breath, turning his head just enough on the warm shoulder for Francis to hear him and feeling the strong, relaxed muscles under his cheek. "Up until now, I... I always thought there was no one I could trust; not even Patrick. It just didn't feel right to talk to him about some things, and I just resigned myself to that, but... now that you're here, I'm so scared something I say will make you leave again. I don't want to be alone."

He clung to Francis tightly, not sure why he wanted so badly to kiss the frog, but knowing he shouldn't and holding himself back. Francis just hugged him back, and Arthur's stomach did an odd sort of flip when he felt a gentle kiss planted on his forehead.

"I don't either, _amour_," Francis whispered.

They spent a moment in silence before he shifted, carefully letting go of Arthur and feeling a little guilty when the Brit shot him a disappointed look. He slipped out from under him, crawling up toward the head of the bed and leaning back some.

Francis looked at Arthur, with his brilliant green eyes and messy blond hair, still wondering how someone could be so beautiful and yet so imperfect at the same time. He patted the bed next to him invitingly.

Arthur's heart leapt.

He smiled and moved next to Francis, hesitating a moment before lying down with his head on the frog's chest to hear his deep, strong heartbeat. It was another minute before he felt a warm arm slide around him, pulling him close against his side and rubbing gentle circles on his back. Arthur bit his lip to keep from smiling and let his green eyes slip closed, reveling in the scent of _Francis;_ sweet, sensual roses and warm vanilla and dark, spicy cinnamon. It fit the Frenchman perfectly.

Arthur let his arm move to fall over the taller boy's chest, feeling the strength in the rise and fall of the calm breathing. Normally he would've felt self-conscious, with his skinny body against Francis's gentle strength, but at the moment he was too drowsy to care. The warmth of another body was delightfully calming.

But it was only Francis that made him feel safe.

* * *

><p>A yawn.<p>

Arthur stirred drowsily.

Finally he cracked open one eyelid to see the frog still awake, looking down at him and biting his lip a little, as though to hold back a grin.

"_Salut_, _mon amour_," Francis greeted quietly.

Arthur groaned and flopped his head back down on the warm shoulder. Somehow he'd managed to move in his sleep so he was lying on top of the frog, one hand loosely entwined with Francis's and the other behind his neck, while his forehead had been resting just below Francis's jaw. Fritzdeugen was curled up like a purring cushion behind Francis's head.

Arthur took one glance at her and couldn't help but laugh.

Francis turned to see what was so funny, smiling when the little kitten leaned in to lick his nose furiously. He nuzzled her back, making Arthur laugh more.

"Why hello there, _petit_," he murmured, looking at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. He was so beautiful when he laughed...

Fritzdeugen _rr_d in her high little voice and daintily stood, licking a white-splotched paw and carefully jumping off the bed, disappearing from sight.

Francis smiled and looped his arms around Arthur's waist, gazing into the green eyes that were glowing with happiness. They were even more brilliant than Francis thought he had ever seen them.

Arthur looked at him and smiled.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

"Only an hour," Francis replied with a little shrug, giving his waist a little affectionate squeeze. To his surprise, Arthur shifted a bit, biting his lip uncomfortably.

"_Quoi_?" he asked confusedly, letting his hands slide over Arthur's sides a bit.

Arthur squirmed a little more, rolling off him. "I'm ticklish, you bloody frog!"

"Are you, now?" Francis asked, a devilish glint in his eye. He pinned Arthur down to the bed with one knee, smiling deviously as he ran his hands up and down the Brit's smooth sides through the fabric of his shirt.

Arthur shivered when he reached his waist, squirming again and biting down on his lip to keep from laughing. Francis's fingers lightly teased his sensitive skin, in _the only spot that tickled him like this—_

Arthur giggled, squirming again, a little bead of blood rolling down his chin as he clamped his jaw shut so hard that his lower lip split under the tension.

"Francis—stop—_Francis—_"

But instead of stopping, Francis threw a leg over the Brit's slim hips to trap him and started tickling him relentlessly. Soon peals of Arthur's laughter echoed around the room as he squirmed and writhed under the bloody frog's grip, giggling uncontrollably and begging for him to stop. Francis was giggling too, grinning as Arthur tried to wrestle him off with arms weakened from laughter. The Brit twisted and tried in vain to get Francis to quit, cheeks flushed and tears of laughter streaming down his face by the time Francis finally stopped, more blood trickling from his split lower lip.

"I fucking hate you, you stupid wanker," Arthur muttered, but he was grinning as he said it. Francis smiled and rolled off of his hips to flop next to him on the bed, looking over at the gorgeous boy and sighing contentedly. This was the perfect moment...

Arthur reached up to wipe his bleeding lip, looking at the scarlet smear that had blotted across his palm. "Look what you did, frog," he muttered, pouting a little as he showed it to Francis.

Francis looked at the bead of blood running down his chin, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt. But then he smirked and sat up on the bed, rolling over to put his arms on either side of Arthur's head, successfully trapping him.

"I'll just have to kiss it and make it better, then," he sighed, leaning in closer. His heart was racing, jamming against his ribs with every furious beat. Arthur's green eyes were wide open, watching his every move raptly, looking slightly afraid.

Their noses were barely inches apart. Did he dare close that distance?

_Oui_, he did.

Francis leaned down, took a deep breath, and kissed him.

Arthur gasped as soft, warm lips came into contact with the corner of his mouth, gently kissing away the blood from the bitten place in his lip. Francis was so careful and light with his touch that it couldn't hardly even count as a kiss. Before he even realized it, Arthur was kissing back ever-so-slightly, and he prayed with all his heart Francis wouldn't notice. Luckily, the frog pulled away a mere second later, wiping the back of his hand over his lips, now covered in a little blood.

"Does that feel better now, _ma ch__é__rie_?" Francis asked quietly, still hovering low over Arthur, blue eyes unreadable.

Arthur looked at him for a moment, then smiled. "It does," he murmured. "Maybe there's some truth to that old saying..."

Now he was fighting the urge to throw his arms around Francis's neck and kiss him as hard as he could, but somehow Arthur managed to refrain. Instead he sat up carefully, not once looking away from the blue eyes suddenly filled with a hypnotic, mysterious intensity.

But after a minute Francis blinked and the spell was broken. He seemed to realize he was still on top of Arthur and rolled off of him, falling next to the Brit on the bed.

"We should probably get back, _cher_," he said. "It's almost lunchtime already; someone will notice we're gone."

Arthur nodded, licking the last of the blood from his lips. He could swear he tasted a faint, sugary sweetness where Francis had kissed him.

No, Francis hadn't kissed _him._ He'd kissed Arthur's _lips _just to be an arse_._ There was a difference. The kiss didn't mean anything. Did it?

"Yeah, this took longer than I planned," he muttered sheepishly, finally sitting up and standing from the bed. Francis smirked, following him and watching as he bent down to pick up Fritzdeugen. _Dieu_, did Arthur know how hot he was?

No, probably not. And it would most likely be best if Francis didn't focus on it either—especially not the memory of him licking that blood away. That had just been downright _sexy_.

He sighed, smacking himself mentally and holding open the door for Arthur. As soon as they were our in the corridor, it melted behind them, shrinking into a solid patch of weathered brick wall once more.

Francis shook his head, watching it disappear. "I'll never get used to it here," he muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, Arthur heard him, even from a good four meters down the corridor. He turned, Fritzdeugen draped over his shoulders like a scarf, green eyes slightly narrowed and full lips swollen and red from the ravaging of his teeth. They quirked into a slight smirk, and Francis was once again left clinging to the edge of the gutter.

"What, you didn't have magical disappearing rooms in your old school?" Arthur asked jokingly, but something in his tone was cold. It wasn't right. His voice wasn't right.

Francis felt himself freeze.

Something in those green eyes was out of place, too. They were darker, almost ominous, riddled with scarlet. The same red color that Francis had known to belong to only one other person—

A person he believed to be dead.

No, a person that he _knew _was dead.

Fritzdeugen suddenly gave a little yelp and leapt off Arthur's shoulders as though she'd just realized he wasn't who she'd thought he was, and was clinging to a random stranger who _looked _like Arthur Kirkland but couldn't possibly be. She skittered back toward Francis to curl up in a shaking ball right behind his leg. He scooped her up, looking back toward Arthur quickly.

And behind him, writing itself on the wall at the end of the corridor, was another bloody poem.

_Rising in forbidden hate_

_ By the time you come, it'll be too late_

_ Stirring deep within the night_

_ You won't see his broken flight_

Francis felt his stomach sink.

He looked back at Arthur, suddenly to find the Brit he'd always known. It was enough to make him briefly wonder if he was hallucinating.

His shoulders seemed to have relaxed, every trace of the aggressive stance gone, and the scarlet shadow in his green eyes had disappeared as quickly as it had come. He looked around briefly, gaze falling on Francis.

"W-what?" he asked, voice small and confused.

Francis took a shaky breath, setting Fritzdeugen down and slowly approaching Arthur, with forced evenness.

He put his hands on the Brit's shoulders, to see that he looked a little scared now.

"Whatever you do, _mon amour_, _do not turn around._"

He carefully pulled Arthur away down the corridor, taking his hand and breaking into a run as soon as they rounded the corner. Fritzdeugen hissed one last time at the bloody poem on the wall before slinking away after them.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked.

Francis turned to look at him, seeing the fear in those emerald green eyes.

"We need to find Dumbledore."

* * *

><p><strong>Ten pages. Ten damn pages of smut and fluff. *facepalms*<strong>

**God save my soul.**

**So, now at least they're a couple - but of course, they don't know that yet! Aah, the torture. I apologize profusely; I would've had them together and snogging a long time ago if that first 'real' kiss didn't have to come into play in the last chapters in order for them to work. Sorry! Don't kill me!**

**All credits for Fritzdeugen's name and Gil's war cry to my best friend; yes, you know her. The one who helped me write _Boredom_. You'd be amazed the crackiness we come up with at one in the morning, watching Harry Potter and giggling hysterically about Dumbledore's pimpdom.**

**This is an incredibly long endnote, but there's also one more thing I need to request of you: _PLEASE_ review on how you liked the smut scene? I want to improve, so any tips or criticism is greatly, _greatly _appreciated. All the help I get in reviews will go into making the last scene - foreplay and all, by the way - so please, review the smut! **

**Okay, I'm done. Thanks for reading!**

**Love from Maple**


	17. The Chamber of Secrets

**A/N: Yes, I finally got this up! I can't honestly say how sorry I am for taking so _loooong_ to write it, but hopefully it will suffice for the period of time it took to get it written. Originally it was meant to be two chapters, but I ended up combining them because I'm just _lazy _like that, and... yeah. I worked especially hard on the last scene and re-wrote it like, sixteen times to get the tension and suspense balance right. It's my first time writing anything with that sort of atmosphere, so any advice would be great!**

**Oh, and another reason why this took so long - that you might be more interested in other than listening to me rant about my terrible woes - is because I'm working on an AmeCan smutfic right now. It should be up in about a week at most, so if you like the smut scene in here, go check my profile out in a few days!**

**Okay, I'm done. Without further adieu... enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Chapter Seventeen: The Chamber of Secrets<p>

"Hey, Gil—look at this."

"Mhm... what?"

The drowsy Slytherin looked up with bleary ruby eyes, rubbing them to clear them of all the text he'd had to absorb in the past two hours, not to mention all twenty-one days, fourteen hours, six minutes and seven seconds of torturously _boring_ studying. Normally he wasn't the one to study, but the only thing that kept him on it was the possibility of becoming an Auror. And that meant something to him.

So the unawesome teachers, damn them, had begun piling on the homework before end-of-the-year exams, even though they were still three weeks away. Damn, damn, damn them all. He'd like to gouge all their eyes out with a burning stick.

But at the moment, Francis was poking him insistently, so he looked up and glared at the Frenchman irritably. Besides—it was better than staring at another sentence involving the goblin rebellions of 1812. That combined with the warm golden glow of the lamps and candles lighting the library was enough to make his eyes ache.

"_Ja_?" he muttered, standing up to look at the thick book Francis was showing him. He noticed that he'd pulled his blond hair into a low ponytail tonight; something he almost never did anymore. Gilbert smirked. It wasn't lost on him that Francis was trying to look good for Arthur.

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" Francis asked, dragging his finger under the phrase in the book. Gilbird squawked angrily and fell over on Gil's shoulder, and the albino shook his head in disbelief.

"_What's the Chamber of Secrets?_" he repeated incredulously. He sighed heavily, clapping a hand on Francis's shoulder. "Francis, you _really _need to do your history research."

Francis just rolled his eyes. "What do you think _this _is, Gil?" he asked, pointing at the book, which looked rather thick and heavy. "Just answer my question, _oui_?"

"It's a long story, so we might as well get comfortable," Gilbert muttered. He sat back down again, and Francis settled across from him, next to the sleeping Arthur who had Fritzdeugen snoring quietly next to him. Arthur had been utterly exhausted the past few days, suffering from more headaches and unable to sleep at night when he needed it, only to fall into a doze in class the next day. Patrick had gone back up to the Ravenclaw dormitories already, so it was just Gilbert and Francis left here with him, but for the moment both felt so bad for him that they didn't have the heart to wake him up. He was a silent sleeper, anyway, and Francis couldn't help but notice how beautiful and peaceful he was when he slept. The fluffy kitten at his side just increased the sweetness tenfold. So they let him rest, head on his arms and a small smile on his lips, and went about their work.

Or, in Gil's case, _not _working.

"The legend about the Chamber of Secrets starts with the four founders," Gil said. Francis met his eyes intently, focusing on every word. "I think you and Arthur did a poem on them, back at the beginning of the year—that weird assignment in study hall?"

Francis nodded, and Gilbert went on.

"Three of them—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, that is—had no issue with Muggle-borns. They thought magic should be open to anyone with magical blood, of Muggle descent or no. But Slytherin was being unawesome and didn't want to let them into the school; he said they'd expose the wizarding world, and not be as loyal as those of pure blood. He was especially against Muggle-borns with special talents—you know, Parseltongue or being able to switch between two forms, like an Animagus. Thought they were weaker and unworthy.

"Slytherin and Gryffindor finally got into an all-out fight about it, and it ended with Slytherin leaving Hogwarts permanently. But before he left, he built a hidden chamber below the school, and was said to have left a monster in it that only his heir could control. On the heir's command, it could wipe all the Muggle-borns out of the school.

"Up until ten years ago, the Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, but it wasn't. Harry Potter—you know him, the legendary guy with the scar on his forehead—ended up going down into the chamber and killing the monster to save his best friend's sister. But no one could ever figure out what had gotten her there in the first place, since no one could ever find the entrance after it was sealed off permanently. Harry never told what the monster was, either."

Francis shivered at the thought of something creeping around the dark corridors of Hogwarts castle, waiting to strike at just the right moment and begin its purge of the school, one student at a time...

He blinked to snap himself out of it. The monster was dead and the Chamber sealed off. There was nothing to worry about. Was there?

Gil's voice interrupted his thoughts. "We should probably get back, Francis," he said, grabbing his books and shoving them into his bag. "It's almost curfew already."

Francis nodded and stifled a yawn as he grabbed his books also and packed them up. But he stopped upon reaching the big, thick book on the Chamber of Secrets. Could it contain any more information?

Just for good measure, he tucked it into his bag too.

Francis looked over at Arthur, sleeping so peacefully, and smiled as he gently ran a hand through that soft, messy blond hair, fondly working out a couple of knots with his fingers. Gil just watched, smirking knowingly as Francis picked up Arthur's books also, but the smirk faded when suddenly a small yellow paper slipped out of one of them, fluttering to the ground.

"...What's this?" Francis muttered with interest, bending down to grab it and flip it over. Written on the front was a poem, in Arthur's messy hand.

"Gil, come here," he muttered in shock.

_Word of snakes_

_ Hidden in the lines_

_ Speak to tap_

_ As one lives, the other dies_

"Sounds like something that'd be written on the wall," Gil muttered under his breath.

"_Oui_, it does..." Francis murmured more to himself than anyone else, before shaking his head and shoving the paper into his pocket. Most of Arthur's books were secondhand, he told himself. It had probably just been left in there by accident.

Still, it unnerved him. But he skillfully shoved it to the back of his mind and picked up the rest of Arthur's books.

Gil watched as Francis leaned down to kiss Arthur's forehead with a gentleness that stole his breath away. And Gil wasn't the type to be sentimental, _at all._ But... these two were totally awesome together.

"When are you two idiots going to finally start going out already?" he demanded. Gilbird cheeped in agreement, sternly telling Francis he wanted to know as well.

"I really don't know, Gil," Francis murmured with a heavy shrug. "Maybe never."

Gilbert scoffed, crossing his arms defiantly. "C'mon, Francis! You can't be serious. Even The Awesome _Me _knows you like each other!"

"A wonderful observation," Francis smirked dryly. He pressed another soft kiss to Arthur's cheek, letting it linger as long as he dared and gently rubbing the Brit's shoulders to bring him back from dreamland as pleasantly as he could. "Wake up, _mon amour_," he breathed in his ear. Arthur's smile faded as the green eyes slipped open, before he seemed to realize he'd fallen asleep and shook his head, running a hand over his face.

"How long was I out?" he mumbled, voice low and rough from sleep. Gil had been watching with a knowing smirk, but now he finally spoke.

"About an hour," he lied with a shrug. "Not long."

Fritzdeugen had meowed quietly and risen with a big pink yawn, and now she lightly hopped to the floor to follow Arthur, Francis, and Gilbert as they made their way out of the library.

* * *

><p>"'Night, Francis," Arthur murmured into the warmth of Francis's shoulder.<p>

The two of them stood at the base of the spiral stairs, and the frog had pulled Arthur into a tight embrace. For once, he didn't want to resist. Francis was warm and comforting.

"_Bonne nuit_, _mon amour_," Francis whispered back. There was a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, a horrible sense of impending disaster. He wanted to keep Arthur as close as he could, for as long as he could. Something bad was going to happen—and soon, from the feel of it. With his odd talent for detecting things like this, that could not be a good sign.

"...Any headache?" he asked quietly, not sure of what to say as he cuddled Arthur close to his body. Was it just him, or was the Brit cold as ice? Francis could feel the chilly hands on his chest through his robes, and overall, Arthur just didn't seem to be giving off as much body heat as he should've. Francis hugged him tighter.

"Throbbing," Arthur replied quietly, relaxing a little as he let his chin rest on Francis's warm shoulder. "But at least I think I'll sleep well tonight."

Francis wasn't convinced.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked. Arthur just smiled and shook his head as though they'd been over this too many times before.

"Of course I am, you stupid frog!" he grinned, giving Francis's chest a little light smack but pointedly not pulling away. "Stop acting like I'm going to fall over dead at any moment!"

Francis sighed, giving his slim waist a gentle squeeze and forcing a smile. "I'm just worried for you," he whispered.

"And why would that be?" Arthur murmured back, letting his eyes slip closed and resting his head comfortably on the frog's shoulder once more.

_Because I love you_, Francis wanted to say. But instead, he contented himself with a soft kiss to Arthur's cool cheek. The Brit shivered at how goddamn _sensual _this fucking frog could be as another tender kiss was placed on his throbbing temple, seeming to ease a bit of the pain. It lingered, and Arthur could feel Francis's warm, fresh breath on the side of his face when he spoke.

"Arthur..." he murmured quietly. "There's something I've been wanting to do for a while now."

The Brit pulled away enough to look into the bright blue eyes that seemed to have become endlessly deep. He could catch glimpses of silvery gray and gold there that he'd never seen before, as Francis hovered unbearably close. But somehow Arthur couldn't force himself to pull away.

And could he just be imagining it, or was Francis leaning closer, tilting his head slightly, those beautiful blue eyes falling half-lidded and then closing? And then—

Holyshit.

Holy. Fucking. _Shit._

Francis had just _kissed him._

Arthur stood frozen by the warm, soft lips now covering his own, gentle arms resting protectively around his waist, the heat of another body pressed so impossibly close coursing through his veins. And—oh God, he was kissing another _boy. _Oh God. But he was enjoying it. Immensely. The pleasure of hot lips moving against his, of Francis's possessive arms around him nearly overruled his common sense for a moment. _Mine_, Francis was saying. _You're mine. I don't want anyone else to touch you._

But a second more and Arthur's brain kicked back in. It was embarrassed and scared. And with Arthur, embarrassment and fear combined tended to take the form of anger.

"_What do you think you're playing at?_" he suddenly demanded, shoving himself away and stumbling back. Francis looked at him for a second, sensing the fright in his tone and suddenly realizing that he had violated something unspeakably sacred. But as soon as he moved forward to apologize, Arthur had already turned and disappeared in a huff up the spiral staircase.

Francis turned away to look at his feet. A single, glistening tear slipped down his cheek.

"_Je suis désole, mon petit lapin_," he whispered. "_Je t'aime._"

* * *

><p>Arthur didn't appear at breakfast the next morning. Francis kept looking around nervously for him, scanning the entire Great Hall from top to bottom and back again, but there was no sign to suggest even a trace of him<em>.<em> His stomach felt all nervous and squirmy, and despite Gil and Tonio's pushiness, he didn't eat anything. Instead, he spent the time wondering where Arthur could be—and if he had made a deadly mistake in ignoring his bad feeling the night before, and scaring Arthur even more by kissing him so recklessly. _Dieu_, why was he such an _idiot _about these things?

As soon as the bell's deep tone clanged out over the school grounds to signal the start of the first class, Patrick was hurrying toward Francis and stopped him from going anywhere with a hand on his shoulder.

"You seen Artie, mate?" he questioned, panting slightly. "I can't find him."

Francis shook his head. "_Non_; I haven't seen him since last night," he muttered.

Patrick looked a little worried, biting his lip. "Well, he probably just overslept. I know he's been tired over the past couple weeks..."

But he didn't even sound like he'd convinced himself. Guilt twisted Francis's stomach, and he remembered his promise to Patrick, from back in October after the first disappearance; he'd sworn to take good care of Arthur. He took a deep breath and made his choice.

"Patrick, I really need to talk to you," he muttered under his breath, so only the Ravenclaw could hear.

"Now?" Patrick demanded, brow furrowing. "Francis, I've got Transfiguration this hour, McGonagall'd _kill_ me—"

"Never mind that." Francis cut him off. "Something happened last night."

"With... you and Arthur, I presume?" Patrick inquired skeptically. The rest of the Hall was gradually clearing around them as students waved goodbye to their friends and headed off to their first class; Patrick must really want to hear this, because there was no doubt he would be late now. Francis was just about to reply, but before he could so much as open his mouth, a certain silver-haired albino shoved his head into their conversation.

"What's this I hear? Has Francis got himself a boyfr—"

Patrick smacked him.

Gilbert glared back, looking offended. "_Somebody's _on his period," he muttered.

"_Non_, he's not," Francis shot back, slightly exasperated. "Haven't you heard any of what I've been saying all morning? I think Arthur disappeared again, and _Dieu _knows how long he's been gone during the night if I'm right and he's not just oversleeping by a massive three hours. Now, do you want to try and solve this with Patrick and _moi_, or not, because if you don't then I'd suggest you heading on to class!"

Gil stared for a moment. That was the one and only time for all of this year that Francis had actually told him off, and it was highly unsettling. He closed his mouth and looked between the two faces now glaring at him.

"You're having another one of your weird foresight thingies, aren't you?" he asked quietly.

Francis just nodded. "I've got a bad feeling about all this, if that's what you mean. And... last night, I think I might've made things even worse."

Patrick's face hardened into a mask of sheer determination, eyes flashing and dangerous; he was ready for war against whatever was taking Arthur away for hours at a time and leaving bloody messages on the walls in his place. "Tell us what happened."

Gil suddenly looked just as dead-set, and Francis finally nodded, throwing his bag onto the empty table as the last of their fellow students trickled out the doors. "We can get them later; now we won't be needing them," he said with certainty in his voice and watching as Patrick and Gil did the same. Together the three of them strode off for the deserted staircase.

"So, what happened to make you so sure Artie's gone?" Gil asked as they started up the steps at a jog.

Francis was a stair ahead of both of them. "Nothing," he said. "Which is why we're going to check his dormitory now. But if I can trust my instincts—and they've never failed me yet—he would have disappeared long before morning."

As they walked, hurried along by Francis's urgency, he explained everything. Arthur's tiredness, how cold he'd been, the nasty feeling sinking in his stomach and the odd poems he'd found nestled carefully in his book. He admitted about the kiss, and the fear and rage in the Brit's eyes as he'd run off to the dormitory. It would have made him even more vulnerable to whatever mysterious thing appeared to be kidnapping and disorienting him before tossing him right back down in some odd corridor and not leaving him with a single memory of what had happened. As he talked, Patrick and Gil seemed to grow even more tense.

Finally they reached the spiral stairs, just as Francis's explanation was winding down. But he didn't even get to the door to accept the eagle knocker's question—his words caught in his throat with an odd choking sound. He stopped dead in the middle of the landing, staring around at the horrible scene before him.

The ground was splattered in fresh, wet blood.

Below the poem across the landing was a mangled corpse, sprawled at an odd angle in a puddle of its own fluids—and not just blood, either. Its chest had been ripped clean open by massive, razor-sharp fangs, leaving the lungs partially exposed and blood dripping from where the heart lay gashed in half, connected only by a single thread of muscle. Its leg had been torn open from hip to ankle, straight down to the bone. The stomach was only half intact and dripping odd, slimy substance that made Francis feel sick just looking at it. He was suddenly only just able to control the need to retch.

Behind him, Gil and Patrick were paralyzed in horror. But Francis walked over to the dead boy's body, trying to make out the face through an oozing gash in his forehead. Red-brown hair was slicked to his scalp with blood, innocent brown eyes wide open in dead terror, a single curl springing from the gory, drenched mess. Suddenly Francis remembered him; it was the small fourth year he so often saw in the corridors, always so incredibly kind, if a bit stupid, to everyone else around him. At the beginning of the year, before he'd learned his way around, Francis had found himself almost constantly asking him for directions.

"Feliciano Vargas," he breathed. He carefully reached down and closed the boy's eyes with a shaking hand. The blood felt warm and sticky on his fingers.

His gaze shifted to the poem on the wall as he straightened up.

_When the clock strikes thirteen..._

Wait... no.

_when the Clock strikes tHirteen_

_ you will heAr the broken screaMs_

_ it's rising from the Broken dark_

_ killing tEeth are razor-shaRp_

Francis's breath caught in his throat again, as he suddenly felt a realization come to life in the very back of his mind, fragile and precious as an eggshell.

No, the poems weren't just meant to scare. They were something more than that.

He thought back to the image of the second bloody wall, painted there like something from a Muggle horror movie, but all so real it had embedded itself in his mind for eternity.

_frOm the depths, i will return_

_ to take what's mine, From all you've earned_

Two letters, two lines. No, the poems weren't just a simple prank; they were a warning.

The last one. He'd never be able to forget the look in Arthur's eyes that simply hadn't been his as he watched the irregular words form in sheer, raw blood behind him. The frigid realization sealed the deal.

_riSing in forbidden hatE_

_ by the time you Come, it'll be too late_

_ stiRring deEp withing the nighT_

_ you won't See his broken flight_

Put all the odd capital letters together, like newspaper clippings to unlock a code, and Francis's blood ran cold.

_C-H-A-M-B-E-R O-F S-E-C-R-E-T-S_

Oh, no; these poems were no warning.

They were a death sentence.

* * *

><p><strong>And I may have just written my own death sentence in that cliffhanger. Please don't ooze through the internet and kill me! Then you'll never know the ending, <em>non<em>?**


	18. Arthur's Secret

**A/N: Here it is. Finally. I really should've written this sooner, but I've been so busy with work and stress and shit that it's been pretty much impossible not only to find time to write, but also to find the _inspiration_ to get myself writing. Don't worry, though - I WILL finish this. I WILL finish this. I WILL. I _MUST._**

**Anyway, on a happier note, know that you're not going to be waiting much longer for the ending - there should be only three chappies left, and one of them is probably going to be the smutty interlude if I decide to post it separately, for those of you who don't want to read it. Ahem. Anyway, have a chapter! You guys deserve it for sticking with me and reviewing for this long, bros!**

**Also: My most sincere apologies for the shitty, absolutely-no-sense-making chapter title. I'm sick right now and my brain is utterly fried.**

* * *

><p>Chapter Eighteen: Arthur's Secret<p>

"Gil, he's in the Chamber of Secrets."

Francis's voice seemed to echo in the deafening silence of the landing. The only sound to be heard was the irregular _drip, drip, drip _of blood as Feliciano's mutilated heart lay oozing in the mess of his corpse. A metallic tang filled the air. Francis straightened up and turned quickly to see Patrick looking dumbfounded and terrified and Gil's jaw hanging open.

"_What?_" Gilbert squawked. "But—but that's impossible! It was sealed off ages ago—"

Francis was already heading for the stairs. "Is there or is there not a room in this school that will transform into whatever you need at the time?" he demanded.

Suddenly realization seemed to dawn on Gilbert's pale face. His scarlet eyes widened and then narrowed menacingly as he cracked his knuckles, ready to do absolutely anything if it meant saving Arthur's life.

He turned to stride after Francis back toward the steps, but the Frenchman hesitated and stopped for a moment, looking over his shoulder at Patrick, who was now shivering a little, purposefully looking anywhere but Feliciano's mangled corpse.

"Patrick, get Professor McGonagall," Francis told him, uncharacteristic urgency in his soft voice. "Show her this, and tell her what we're doing and where we've gone. You'll do that for us, _oui_?"

Patrick just nodded quickly, looking very pale and a little sick. He hurried after them down the spiral stairs, and suddenly seemed surprised when Francis grabbed his wrist just as they were about to part ways in the corridor.

"We'll be back," he murmured. "With Arthur. I promise."

Again, Patrick just nodded, and then hurried away.

* * *

><p>"Do you even know where the the room<em> is?<em>" Francis asked, running to keep pace with Gil. Earlier it hadn't occurred to either of them what would happen if Patrick found McGonagall before the two of them had gotten into the Chamber, but now it was clear as day—there was no doubt they would be stopped, and Arthur killed while they were trying to reason with the hysterical teachers.

"Well of _course_ The Awesome Me knows where it is!" Gil snapped indignantly, jogging ahead. "I go to parties there all the time."

Francis sped up to keep pace with him; they were almost running now.

"And do you know how to get in? I remember Arthur saying something about a special—"

Gil cut him off. "We'll figure that out when we get to it," he said dismissively. "Let's just find the room first."

They rounded a corner, breaking into a full-out sprint, and dashed up one last staircase to the seventh floor corridor. Gilbert skidded to a halt halfway down it, and Francis bit his lip anxiously. At best, they had five minutes before the teachers would be tracking them down. He knew this was the right place because of the bloody poem scrawled on the wall at the end of the corridor, but _where was the room?_

"Gotta be around here somewhere," Gil muttered under his breath, scanning the walls for any chipped stones, an oddly colored patch, or an out-of-place shadow; anything that could be some kind of a hint as to where the illusive vanishing room might be.

Francis looked around edgily, desperate for some kind of clue as he began to feel the cold hands of panic creeping into his mind. Surely, _surely _Patrick had found the teachers by now. The minutes were water, slipping between their fingers even as they tried desperately to hold it captive.

So dammit, where was the room?

"_Merde_! We're running out of _time!_" Francis finally hissed, punching the wall angrily. "There's got to be _some _way to get inside!"

Gil was clearly thinking hard, arms crossed tensely across his chest and silvery hair falling into half-lidded ruby eyes. He strode recklessly back and forth, up and down the corridor, teeth clenched as his mind ran in circles. Spring sunshine was pouring in through the high, arcing windows, but it seemed to stop at the glass rather than flood in to warm the smooth stone floor.

If they didn't get Artie out of there _soon_, there was every chance he would never come out alive anyway. With every second they were stuck out here thinking, it was another second away from Arthur's life—the clock was ticking.

It may have ticked to a shuddering halt already.

Gilbert growled under his breath, whirling around to stalk the other way. They had to get into this room; they had to find Arthur. And the teachers would be here any minute. God fucking damn, God fucking _damn—_

A gentle hand on his shoulder.

"G-Gilbert, what's wrong, eh?" a soft voice asked.

Gil quickly turned, startled, only to find himself staring into the cautious violet eyes of Matthew Williams. Suddenly a bit of his anger vanished, a spark of an idea flashing in his mind.

He shrugged off the hand because it made him uncomfortable, but wasted no time in presenting the issue at hand.

"We need to get into the Room of Requirement," he said bluntly, meeting Mattie's gaze with a sheer intensity that made the younger boy want to shiver. "Arthur's life in in danger."

Matthew looked taken aback, withdrawing a bit and looking at Gil with renewed caution, but the albino didn't care—he plowed recklessly on.

"He's going to die if we can't get to him soon, but we can't get into the room. Do you know how...?"

Matthew stared at him carefully for a second more, a light blush dusting his cheeks for some reason unknown to Gilbert, and then nodded slowly. He turned away and walked over to the wall Francis was currently leaning defeatedly against, then walked past it again.

"What the...?" Gil hissed, ready to tell him this was definitely no time for games, when suddenly a door began to fade through the pale, smooth gray stone. Gil felt his jaw hanging open in amazement by the third time Matthew had walked past that patch of wall—but rather than the wall being there, it was a heavy metal door with rust crawling up from the bottom and scuffs all around the serpent curled to form a depiction of a skull in the middle of the door. But there was no handle; just the snake and rust creeping up delicately from the bottom.

"Was that what you needed?" Mattie asked, now sounding a little fazed as he eyed the door apprehensively. "It looks... dangerous."

But Francis had already leapt up and was glaring at the snake with cold calculation. Its emerald eyes seemed almost... _alive_, the way they glimmered in the cool sunlight. Gil forced himself to move from where he'd seemingly become rooted to the spot by the horribly real shimmer of those eyes that reminded him uncannily of Arthur's, to sidle up behind Francis and see them closer. He shivered and looked away.

"I've heard of Slytherin being a Parselmouth," Francis murmured, meeting the snake's gaze with a challenge set in the glint of his own. "I am correct, _oui_?"

Both Gilbert and Matthew found themselves nodding slowly, not sure of what they were getting themselves into. But a slight smirk quirked Francis's lips as he reached forward to touch the snake's head and then opened his mouth to finally use the talent he had always revolted by until this day.

"_Open up, you snake bastard. You don't have him yet._" He allowed a low hiss to begin and bubble out of his throat, resonating on the back of his tongue and opening his mouth to let it continue. The rasp of sound escaped his lips like the words of an old and terrible curse, hanging in the air around.

In a way, Parseltongue was a curse all its own.

Gilbert and Matthew watched, dumbfounded, as the serpent seemed to glare its challenge in return to Francis's cruel proposal, and the door grudgingly forced itself to open a crack with grating grind of metal on stone.

Francis was just about to tell Gil and Mattie to help him get this door to open, but suddenly he froze as the sound of distant, hurried footsteps reached his ears. McGonagall's lilt floated above the pattering, clearly barking out orders.

Oh, _merde_.

Their time was up.

"Help me get this door open!" Francis yelped, throwing his weight against it. With a screeching metallic complaint that rang through the air and made him wince, its stubborn hinges ground open a bit farther.

"Move."

Francis looked over his shoulder just in time for Gilbert to push him away with a determined glare in his scarlet eyes, and quickly stood back to watch.

Bracing one shoulder against the cold metal of the door, he shoved his foot firmly into the crack that had been opened between the rusty metal door and its frame. The teachers' footsteps sounded to be only a staircase away now. Gil set his face determinedly and all at once gave the door a mighty shove, unaware of Matthew and Francis wincing and covering their ears at the shriek not unlike nails on a chalkboard; he gave another heave until the gap was just barely big enough to slip through sideways.

Francis dashed over, heart battering against his ribs; the footsteps were just down the hall around the corner now, and rapidly growing nearer. He wriggled through the gap, motioning frantically for Gil and Mattie to follow. Almost to the corner. Matthew hesitated, looking back at the corridor uncertainly. They were mere feet away from being caught now. _Five_. Francis's breath caught in his throat, heart racing. _Four. _Time stood still. _Three_. Matthew wavered. _Two. _Finally, after a single wild second of indecision, Gil grabbed his arm and yanked him through the crack. The door wrenched itself shut behind them, slamming back into place of its own accord with a hollow, heavy _bang_.

The dead silence was deafening.

Matthew was the first to speak as his two companions stood, slightly stunned, eyes dancing with spots in the pitch-blackness.

"W-well, I guess I'm stuck with you guys, eh?" he laughed nervously. One hand tugged skittishly at the seam of a pocket in his robes, though he knew no one could see him, and he finally heard Francis finally let out a shaky breath from next to him.

"_Oui_, I guess you are," the older boy murmured, shaking his head to clear it.

"_Lumos_."

A light sparked across the room, soon pulsing into a brilliant blue glow that bathed the room around them in cool, clear light. Gil held his wand up to see around, the cyan glow reflecting off his silvery hair and glazing his red eyes, though they remained determinedly alert, like a hunted animal determined to fight back at its killers.

The room was small and dank, the walls a bit damp and slimy to touch. The floor was wet with a shallow puddle of water that shimmered and rippled around their feet, but wasn't deep enough to seep into their shoes.

"That was a close one," Gil breathed. He turned to Matthew, who winced, thinking he was about to get a verbal beating, but instead a little smirk quirked Gilbert's lips. "_Never _scare me like that again, Birdie," he said quietly, leaning down to Matthew's eye level and poking his nose gently. His violet eyes sparkled in the wandlight as he blushed and looked away.

"Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks slightly pink.

Suddenly both Gil and Mattie jumped at the sound of Francis's revolted yelp, hearts skipping and scaring them half-senseless as they whirled around to see the Frenchman skidding backwards away from the wall.

"Eurgh! _Dieu_, why did no one _tell _meit was covered in slime?" he cried, attempting in vain to brush off his robes. Gil was just about to laugh before he suddenly caught sight of something that made his stomach turn; not because of what it was.

But because Francis was headed straight for it.

"Look out!" he yelped, dashing forward to grab his friend just before he stumbled into the gaping hole in the floor. He managed to catch hold of Francis's arm and yank him away a split second before he otherwise tumbled into the darkness below. Francis stumbled behind him.

Gilbert sighed angrily, biffing the Frenchman none too gently over the head and not feeling the slightest hint of remorse when Francis winced at the blow.

"A little slime is nothing to get yourself _killed _over," he hissed with a roll of his eyes, and Francis shivered.

"But it's so _gross_," he mumbled under his breath, still trying a little to brush off his robes as he backed up, though he knew better to complain aloud. Instead he carefully sidled up behind Gil again and peered cautiously over the edge of the void.

Only to see that at second glance in the dim blue glow, it wasn't a void.

It was a staircase.

He felt Matthew cautiously approach it from behind, carefully leaning over both of their shoulders to inspect the wet stone steps that seemed to spiral on forever into darkness. Cool, dank air wafted from the stairs and into their faces, smelling of mildew and age. Gil lowered his wand to try and see farther, but all that met him was yawning, velvety blackness.

"Where do you think it leads?" Matthew whispered, cautiously trying to see further without leaning out too far over the edge.

"Down," Gil said wisely.

Francis rolled his eyes, lighting his wand and lowering himself a few stairs down. There was no railing to protect the climber from tripping and stumbling into the center of the dark, narrow spiral, leaving them to fall to their death at the bottom. The musty updraft was even worse now. And even when Francis lowered his wand to rest by his feet, he could see no deeper into the unending maze of steps.

Finally he turned back to his friends, letting out a shaky breath. "Only one way to find out," he muttered, before steeling his nerves and, not waiting to see if Gil and Matthew followed, starting down the staircase and descending into blackness.

* * *

><p>Darkness pressed in from all sides, making it nearly impossible to see anything beyond their little shield of light as they carefully picked their way down stair after slippery stair; some were crumbling away, and there had been multiple times when Francis had only just avoided falling into a gap where two or three steps had cracked and tumbled completely away from the wall, and come within a heartbeat of plummeting to his death.<p>

Mattie knew he was clumsy at the best of times, but now he felt as though he was the biggest oaf on the planet. He kept slipping in the puddles and stumbling, while Gilbert and Francis seemed perfectly steady, cautious though they were. A blush tinted his face as he found himself nervously holding onto Gil's arm in order to keep his precarious footing and praying that no one would notice how his cheeks were burning profusely in the bluish wandlight.

But suddenly he yelped, feeling his feet slip out from under him and loose gravel from one of the gaps in stairs falling over the edge of the step he was on. He clung onto Gil for balance as he skidded, and just when he thought he was going to fall over the edge of the step a pair of strong arms caught around his waist from behind to pull him back to his feet and hold him there for a moment. He and his savior caught their breath, and then Gilbert spun him around so their eyes were locked. Their faces were uncomfortably close.

"What did I tell you about scaring The Awesome Me?" he asked, shaking his head and carefully burying his face in Matthew's neck before he could convince himself to do otherwise. He felt Mattie let out a shaky breath and surprisingly warm arms tentatively slip around him to cradle him in a hug.

"Sorry," Matthew muttered sheepishly, too embarrassed to reply any further.

"Both of you alright?"

Francis had run back up to them, his face etched with worry. Gilbert took a deep breath and pulled away to give his friend a nod.

"No harm done," he murmured. Matthew blushed and looked away.

Francis looked at them for a second more, before finally sighing in relief and turning away. "_Ouais. _I think I found the bottom," he said, carefully moving ahead. Gil and Mattie could hear his wet footsteps cautiously picking their way down, echoing on the soaking walls close around them with ghostly clarity. Matthew shivered, carefully jumped the gap he had almost fallen into earlier, and followed after Francis with Gilbert close behind.

A few more turns and the narrow staircase did indeed widen out, the claustrophobic confines of slimy stone that had kept them prisoner finally sweeping open and into a musty chamber that was dimly lit by a single torch in a bracket on the far wall. It sputtered and flickered, casting shadows to dance over the walls as though there was almost too much moisture here to burn, and it was hanging onto life by a single thread. Next to it was what looked to be a long, dark sewer pipe that connected to the chamber and seemed to branch endlessly upward—like a nightmarish funhouse slide.

Looking his friends over as they carefully climbed out of the stairwell, Francis saw that both of them were already messy with slime and dirt, Gil's silvery hair sweaty and scuffed with brown and green and Matthew cleaning his glasses to clear them of water. Francis probably didn't look much better—but he was going to ignore it as best he could. After all, there was Arthur to worry about.

Speaking of Arthur: How long had they been in the stairwell? One hour? Two? Francis's watch wasn't waterproof, and it had stopped working at 11:34 AM. He had no way to judge whether that was minutes or hours ago, and no way to even guess whether it was possible for Arthur to still be alive after all this time.

He could only pray he was.

Small animal bones littered the wet floor and crunched underfoot as Francis started off down the chamber and motioned for Gil and Mattie to follow.

"Come on, _mon amis_!" he called, before disappearing around a corner into shadows.

The chamber was long and dim, seeming to twist and wind on itself at every bend, like a snake. Every second dragged on for hours. Francis's own heartbeat rang in his ears. He was trying to breathe through his mouth to avoid the wet, swampy smell and pretended he didn't catch the smallest metallic hint of blood in this unnaturally thick scent of _underground_. Normally it should've smelled fresh and earthy, but now it was stifling. Francis shivered and walked faster.

Gil and Matthew managed to catch up with him, their footsteps slapping on the wet stone floor. They had arrived just in time to hear Francis's Parseltongue challenge echoing ominously off the walls, and held their breath as suddenly a metal snake, engraved on the vaultlike door before them, began to move.

Gil felt Matthew grab his hand.

The snake slithered with an odd hissing of aged metal on metal around the rim of the door, its other seven companions jerkily moving aside to let it pass, each with a loud steel lurch. Matthew jumped with every noise, and with an odd flip of his stomach he felt Gil give his hand a little reassuring squeeze. _I'm here_, it said. _The Awesome Me wouldn't ever let anything hurt you._

Mattie believed him, but that didn't stop his heart from racing, fast and furious, like a rabbit desperate to bolt away from a fox, as the thick door to the Chamber of Secrets finally swung open with a low, metallic creak.

Gilbert was squeezing his hand tighter now. Matthew squeezed back. Both of them watched as Francis took a deep, quivering breath and stepped through the door into the murky green gloom of the Chamber.

A stone walkway, shining with water and partially hazed in shadows stretched before him, surrounded by water on either side. Thick, looming pillars branched up and into darkness, built of solid masses of writhing stone snakes that seemed to follow Francis with their gleaming emerald eyes, glistening so much like Arthur's green eyes that he felt shivers running down his spine. The air was thick and heavy. Footsteps echoed in the cold, unwelcoming silence; it felt almost as though the Chamber itself was alive, trying to force them back again, away from its precious captive. Francis gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering and pushed forward. Every nerve in his body tingled unpleasantly, adrenaline rushing so furiously in his veins that he was nearly jumping at the sounds of his own footsteps. He was ready to spring at any moment. Anything that moved would be instantly pulverized before he could even stop to think about it. His knuckles turned white as his fist clenched around his the handle of his wand. He could hear Gil and Matthew cautiously moving along a few feet behind him. Francis kept walking.

At the far end of the Chamber was an enormous stone statue, its long hair flowing back against the wall behind it and marble eyes wide open, but horribly dead and unseeing. Like Feliciano's had been. A deep pool separated Francis from its face, but suddenly his stomach lurched as he saw the small figure fallen with his back to Francis at the edge of the water.

He froze.

...Could it be?

Yes, it was.

It _had_ to be Arthur, and somehow Francis knew it was, but... not.

Instead of the plain black school robes, Arthur wore a thin tunic of pure white, his long, slim legs bare and messy blond hair half-soaked with water. He almost seemed to glow softly, radiating dim golden light in the dark gloom of the Chamber, and flowing from his shoulders, soft and supple, were a pair of thick, white _wings._

Francis ran to him, shoving his wand back into his pocket and falling to his knees beside the angel. All thoughts of monsters and danger had suddenly slipped away. Arthur's wings were gorgeous, his smooth, pale skin seeming to fade into their thick white feathers with effortless beauty, although now Francis was left to wonder how much more delicately strong and beautiful Arthur would look, had he not been ravaged in the way he was now. Up close, it was clear he had tried to put up a fight, even though he seemed to glow with perfection from afar. It didn't make him any less perfect—it only made Francis's heart twist at the tattered beauty. How could someone harm such a creature?

Arthur's feathers were wet and some had been torn in places, and parts of the softly glowing white of his tunic were scuffed and a little dirty. His hair was disheveled. Francis took him by the shoulders and turned him over onto his back, careful not to trap his wing beneath him and spreading it carefully. It fell limply to the floor. He felt Arthur's neck for a pulse. It was faint and irregular.

But suddenly the long, silvery eyelashes flickered. Slowly they opened to reveal the bleary, unfocused green eyes beneath. Francis felt numb. He was petrified.

Arthur shifted weakly, reaching up to touch Francis's face. His beautiful emerald eyes were half-lidded and hazy, his hand chilled and shaking against Francis's cheek. He was still wearing the ring, and it was nearly warm enough to burn as Arthur tried to look at something over Francis's shoulder but was too weak to turn his head.

He forced his eyes to stay open just long enough to meet Francis's frightened blue ones, swimming in his vision as he let his head fall back against the cold, wet stone floor again. His voice was no more than a weak rasp.

"Dammit, frog... _run._"

* * *

><p><strong>Again, please don't kill me. And do you kind of get the drift of the chapter name now? Arthur was hiding this from them? Kinda-sorta? Oh, never mind. Don't worry, it'll be explained. <strong>

**Thanks for reading! Any reviews would be great right now, as they help me to write and inspire me and such. And thanks again for sticking with me this long - the end be in sight, mateys!**

**Love from Maple**


	19. Guardian of the Stars

**A/N: Well, here it is - the grand finale. Although there is still the smut scene to write/post, since I'll be doing it as a separate chappie for all you who don't want to read it. My Arthur is a real slut during sex... just be warned...**

**EDIT: To those of you who want to read the smut chapter, which was originally an interlude posted as the chapter after this one, it has been moved to this link: _maplerevival. deviantart (dot com slash) __art/AKMD-Interlude-Love-to-an-Angel-307939742_. All of my smutfics are also being moved there to avoid them being taken down, so if you want to read my smut, please go there, and take the spaces out of the link first, obviously. For this smut scene, it should be a worthwhile detour.  
><strong>

**P.S. **I've also got a fluffy ending chapter planned, that I've been thinking about since, like, page 1. Stay tuned!****

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><p>Chapter Nineteen: The Guardian of the Stars<p>

"Well, well, well. _Bonjour_, _petit frère_," a mocking voice hissed, dripping with menace. "Miss me?"

Francis whirled around, grabbing his wand and shooting a curse before he could even stop to think. But the person it was aimed at deflected it with a mere flick of the wrist to send it ricocheting into the wall behind her with a bang, and was standing with her hand on one hip, smirking at him lazily when the smoke cleared.

The woman looked to be a few years older than him, with long blond hair the fell in waves down her shoulders. Her full lips curled in a slight snarl, and her aggressive stance oozed anger, but that wasn't what made Francis's blood run cold.

Her eyes burned red.

The very same scarlet had glowed in Arthur's eyes when the third warning had been written. Francis's stomach suddenly sank with the horrible realization that what he'd been wondering in the back of his mind since then had been absolutely _right_.

"_Andrea_," he breathed incredulously. His wand arm fell limp to his side as he stared at the form of the sister he'd thought to be dead for two long years. He'd _seen _her hit the ground, _seen _her neck snap and the blood pour from the split, and remembered as clearly as if it were yesterday how he'd run into the house, screaming and sobbing hysterically. He'd watched them bury her. But now she was here, standing before him, smirking evilly and every bit as alive as he'd remembered her to be. Except the eyes. They hadn't changed.

"_Oui_,_ petit frère_," Andrea replied, not a bit of the menace fading from her voice. "It's big sister Andrea. You've grown since I saw you last."

She was advancing toward him now, wand held threateningly, and with every forward step she took, he took one back. Francis managed to spare himself a split-second glance over his shoulder, and saw that Arthur was still lying limp at the edge of the pool, beautiful white wings spread out beneath him. Francis swerved in his retreat so when he could go no farther, at least he would be between his sister and the fallen angel.

Now Andrea was prowling in front of him, like an angry cat carefully plotting its next move. "Arthur was right to call you a stupid frog," she whispered.

Francis faltered. He stopped in front of Arthur's body with a low, quiet murmur that seemed to slice through the air like a knife.

"Why?"

Andrea growled. "Did you really think I was going to keep my _filthy _blood traitor family's name?" she hissed, pure hatred saturating every word. "My, you really are a stupid little child, Francis. Oh, no. Not when I'd seen what should be rightfully ours."

"Ours?" Francis demanded, fists clenching angrily.

"_Oui_, in possession of the Purebloods," Andrea snapped. "Why should it be, that gifts are always bestowed upon those too weak to use them?" She jerked her head toward Arthur, sprawled behind Francis, and suddenly he understood—but that was still the least of his worries. Letting his gaze linger over Arthur's chest a few seconds more, his stomach lurched and heart leapt into his throat when he realized it was no longer moving. Arthur wasn't breathing. He just barely fought back the urge to fall next to the angel and feel desperately for a pulse, and with some effort he managed to pull himself away and back into the present.

"Mudbloods are cowardly and pathetic," Andrea spat, pacing angrily back and forth. "The last ones who should be blessed with the gift of a second form are them. And yet, the only times it occurs naturally, however rare, are when accidental magical blood is misplaced. Like dear little Arthur here; he was one of the rarest."

Andrea leaned in close to touch Francis's face, and he slapped the hand away. But all she did was smirk, straightening up.

"Have you ever heard of the _Custos Stellarum_?" she asked, the smirk soon fading to a furious glare once again. "It translates in Latin to _Guardian of the Stars._ There were three here at Hogwarts. My plan was simple—make sure Arthur got the ring. Even after I died, a piece of my soul was preserved in it, and it could feed off his life force; grow from him, possess him. He was easy to control. _Weak_, as you might say."

"Arthur is stronger than you ever were," Francis said, voice quivering with suppressed rage. Andrea didn't even falter.

"And now, as he grows weaker, I grow stronger. Soon his angelic form will be mine—and rightfully so. The process will be complete." She leaned in close once again, taunting him. "Death Eaters aren't the only ones who learned tricks from Lord Voldemort," she breathed.

Francis glared at her, gripping his wand handle so tightly his knuckles were white and fingers numb. "_Vous salope_," he hissed. Andrea smirked, backing away.

"Oh, I may be a bitch," she said smugly, snapping her fingers over her shoulder. Francis's gaze wavered, his fear returning with creeping fingers as his stomach sank in dread of whatever horrible creature she had just summoned. "But at least I'm a live one."

Suddenly, in a huge explosion of water, a huge serpent came roaring up from the depths of a pool just behind Andrea, its enormous jaws snapping hungrily as its war cry echoed through the Chamber.

"_Kill them slowly_," Andrea hissed in Parseltongue with a nasty smirk. "_But leave the Mudblood. He is mine._"

The basilisk lunged for Francis as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Huge, empty eye sockets still stained with blood from whenever the basilisk's terrible, deadly eyes had been gouged out met with Francis's blue gaze, laced with terror, and he did the only thing his instincts allowed—sprang to one side to avoid the deadly fangs that had ripped away the lives of two other students so far this school year. Francis didn't plan on being added to the collection.

He skidded aside on the wet floor, hearing the basilisk whip past and feeling a rush of air as it just barely missed. Nearly falling into the deep pool behind him, he just managed to stop his slide before he slipped into the water and pulled himself back to safety on the floor. Suddenly a shout from the other side of the Chamber caught his attention, and he recognized it as Gil's voice.

"Francis! _Get Artie! _ I'll keep it distracted!"

"_Bien_!" he called in reply, stumbling to his feet and running for where Arthur was still lying, untouched by Andrea's orders, and scooping him up just before the basilisk came back for another round. It roared and lunged again, sending Francis sprawling to his knees, curled around Arthur to keep him from getting hurt in the fall, before he was up again, stumbling half-blindly toward the other end of the Chamber, dodging attacks in ways he would never find possible afterward. Do it for Arthur, he told himself. Do it for Arthur. The basilisk was getting ready to lunge again, and it had him trapped against the wall. He turned his back to the great snake to put himself between it and Arthur's body, only able to think of one thing: _protect Arthur. Protect his angel._

"_Hey!_ Over here, you ugly brute!"

Gil's shriek echoed through the ringing in his ears, and through the adrenaline haze Francis turned enough to see a sharp rock fly and crash into one side of the basilisk's head. It stopped, growling, before after a split second that lasted an eternity, it turned away and went rampaging after Gilbert instead. Andrea's enraged shrieks in Parseltongue for it to _get the fucking Mudblood back _did nothing to faze it. The basilisk was truly angry now, and seemed to have taken to hating Gil with a certain passionate loathing that most animals seemed to feel toward him, for some odd reason. It struck Francis as strangely funny in the desperate situation.

Not even taking a second to rest, he managed to get to his feet and run back toward the middle of the Chamber, not wanting to be trapped against the wall again if the mad serpent decided to come back for another round. But after taking one look at Gil and the basilisk, Francis didn't think that would be happening any time soon. He wondered vaguely where in hell Matthew was through all this, but it only slipped into his mind for a brief moment and was gone. Gil was fighting—as he would put it, and rightfully so—_awesomely_.

And when it was only his fists up against an enormous, scaly powerhouse of fangs and muscle, that was saying something.

Gilbert had lost his wand when he'd thrown the rock at the snake to get it away from Francis and Arthur, and now he was oddly unregretful. It was as if the option for a more evenly-matched fight had never even existed. Every second was a cheat with Death—and he was loving it.

But Francis could see what the albino didn't, in his adrenaline-drunken state. Gil was fighting with inhuman strength and agility, yes, but he didn't seem to realize what was happening. It wasn't enough. He was being pushed farther and farther back—

And closer to the deep pool of water.

Francis wanted to do something, but he knew if he let go of Arthur, Andrea would be on the angel in a minute and the entire reason they'd started this insane venture would be destroyed. So he could do nothing but watch as the basilisk slowly but surely gained the upper hand, and Gil fought slowly but surely closer to his death.

And now, suddenly the albino seemed to realize it. Time slowed down as he managed to lock eyes with Francis. The world was a muted blur of green and blue and gray, all except for Gil's scarlet gaze in the mess. The basilisk was drawing back, getting ready to strike, aiming its final, deadly blow straight for Gil's throat. Then it tensed, and lunged, jaws opening wide as it plunged forward, closer—and closer—

Francis could hear someone shouting in desperate French and knew it must be himself. He felt himself moving forward to try and stop the impossible, even though he'd never even thought of wanting to do any such thing and his mind knew it was hopeless, but his heart wouldn't give up.

Suddenly everything stopped.

Cutting through the daze like the sharpest glass knife, was a shrill, screamed shriek of war. Francis had never heard such sheer desperation and fury and pure, stark _rage _that the split second of dead silence didn't even register.

"_PALM TO THE HEAAAAAAAD!_"

Matthew.

A small, black-robed figure had launched itself at the back of the basilisk's head, the glimmer of the sword in his hand glinting with the same fury in his voice just before it was driven straight through the great snake's skull and sank straight through, out of sight.

A scream of agony. The basilisk stopped mid-lunge and unleashed its deafening wail, screeching to the ceiling. It swayed, wavering, still letting out that dreadful dying scream, before finally, _finally_, it collapsed to the ground just next to Gil. The last echoes faded away as Gil and Matthew stared at each other incredulously for a second, and then Gilbert grabbed the smaller boy and pulled him into the most perfect kiss Francis had ever seen.

The silence was deafening.

"_Non!_"

A sudden yelp of anger made Francis jump, and Gil and Matthew broke apart as Andrea came stomping into view, screaming in incoherent strings of enraged French. "_Baisez cette Dieu maudit merde! Sang de Bourbe stupide, ruinant tout! Ce n'est pas la façon dont il est censé à la fin! Dieu maudit, je le jure, je vais l'assassiner moi-même et faire en sorte qu'il pourrit en enfer_—"

"Time's up," Francis whispered, raising his wand. Andrea stopped, and then laughed.

"Not quite, _petit frère_," she hissed, advancing on him. With every step closer, manic victory glinted in her eyes. Oh, no. Something was very wrong.

Andrea walked right up to him, and slowly, rather than pressing the wand to his jaw, she lowered it to poke against Arthur's cool skin and met Francis's eyes evenly as she threatened the smaller boy, cradled in his arms.

"Lower your wand, or I kill him," she whispered.

Francis shook his head. "I'll hex you," he hissed back. Andrea pressed the wand tip farther into Arthur's jaw.

"I'll have killed him before your spell hits my body," she replied with pure, searing hatred.

They glared at each other for a full minute, before Andrea pressed the wand up against Arthur's neck even harder, gaze not even leaving Francis's eyes. "I'll do it, you know," she muttered.

Finally, Francis sighed and lowered his wand. But his sister didn't stand down.

Instead, she took the wand away from Arthur's throat and moved it to Francis's. "I could've killed you, you know," she murmured offhandedly, clearly contemplating it. "I can _still_ kill you."

Her scarlet gaze wavered, and she raised the wand again, nodding to herself as Francis braced himself for the worst.

"_Oui_, I think I will..."

And just as Francis was trying to think of running away, ducking, _something_, a jet of red light came rocketing out of nowhere to slam into her and send her crashing into the wall. The place where her head had slammed had a bloody stain, and Francis would never be able to erase the memory of that sickening _smash _from his mind. For a moment the silence rang again. Andrea was collapsed against the wall, her skull quite obviously smashed and blood leaking into her long blond hair, matting it together in a tangle of yellow and red.

She was no longer breathing.

Francis looked back to see Matthew tucking away his wand.

"_Merci_," he said breathlessly, and Mattie only shrugged, looking a little sheepish.

"I only meant to Stun her," he muttered quietly, sounding a little embarrassed and hoarse from the explosion of noise he'd made in the magnificent war cry that had saved Gil's life. Francis didn't blame him. He didn't think he'd heard someone yell so loud before in his life, much less the ever-quiet Matthew Williams.

"So, what now?"

Gil's voice interrupted the silence that had been broken only by the sound of dripping water. Francis sighed and squared his shoulders, starting back toward the door to the Chamber of Secrets. Now that he was reminded of it, Arthur felt heavy and cool in his arms—not warm, and inhumanly light, like he should. He bit his lip, refusing to let the possibility of him already being dead seep into his mind. Instead, he answered Gil's question with slow, deliberate words.

"We'll take Arthur to Dumbledore," he murmured, voice shaking a little as he adjusted the fallen angel in his arms, pulling Arthur closer as his mind refused to accept the inevitable possibility. "He'll know what to do."

* * *

><p>The stairs seemed to spiral on forever; first the staircase back up to the Room of Requirement, and then a race through the corridors to find Professor McGonagall and explain everything, and then another battle with time to run with her up to Dumbledore's office. The school was completely deserted, with all the other students locked away in their common rooms, and without them it was eerily silent. Hurried footsteps echoed as the three boys and teacher made their way toward the Headmaster's office.<p>

By the time Francis was carefully placing Arthur on the floor and explaining everything yet again to Dumbledore, the sun was setting, a ball of fiery red against a bloody sky. Francis didn't think he'd ever seen a sunset so bright. It streamed through the windows and lit the floor ablaze, illuminating everything with a brilliant red light. It reflected beautifully on Arthur's soft white feathers.

He couldn't stop glancing at how pale the angel's face had become, and didn't dare feel for a pulse—for fear there wouldn't be one. He found himself having to take deep, steadying breaths every few words now, his voice shaking, and just as he finished the story, it cracked. Swallowing hard, Francis looked up into Dumbledore's kind face desperately.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" he whispered.

The old Headmaster sighed and shook his head. He turned away. Francis bit his quivering lip, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Gil and Matthew just watched, despair and desperation etched in their eyes. McGonagall looked down, staring at the floor.

But slowly Dumbledore turned back, as though contemplating an idea. He looked at Francis again, and then to Arthur, and then back to Francis.

And then, finally, he spoke.

"That ring is a horcrux," he said quietly. "If we can destroy it now, there is some chance that Arthur may still live." Dumbledore extended a hand. "Hand me the ring."

Francis, still biting his lip, did as he was told. He took the uncomfortably hot emerald ring from Arthur's finger and placed it on the Headmaster's desk.

He would never remember Dumbledore using an incantation, and he would never really be able to recall how suddenly there had grown a long, slim flaming snake from the end of the Headmaster's wand. The fire had taken shape, and now it was slithering closer, scorching the air around it, demon eyes glowing like coals straight from the pits of Hell. Slowly it took the ring from where Dumbledore had placed it on the desk, leaving a large black burn mark in its place. A second after it had eaten the ring, the fiery snake screamed in agony, and in a white-hot blast of light, both serpent and ring were gone.

No one moved.

Finally, Dumbledore was the one to speak in the shaken silence. "It is destroyed now," he whispered. Francis immediately fell next to Arthur's body, feeling desperately for a pulse. He tried his wrist, and then neck, and then put a hand over the angel's heart. It was still. Finally, the tears spilled over as he was forced to accept the truth.

There was no pulse to find.

Instead, he took Arthur's cold face in his hands, sobbing quietly and wanting to do something, _anything_, to restore the damage his horrible sister had done. "Oh, God, Arthur... please wake up, please..." he whispered, collapsing on the lifeless angel's chest. He dissolved into quiet tears, body wracking with muffled sobs even as he tried to keep them inside. Gil and Matthew didn't speak, but Mattie had a single tear sliding down his face. Francis pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur's forehead, unable to stop crying brokenly. He could even hear McGonagall sniffling behind him.

But suddenly, the chest beneath him rose.

And fell.

And rose again.

Oh, God. Arthur was breathing.

Francis looked up just in time to see green eyes flutter open and immediately lock with his own, all traces of the bleary glaze they'd had in the Chamber having vanished. He sniffed, trying to hide his face, but another sob escaped his throat—this one not of grief, but joy. Arthur looked at him for a second, then pulled him into a hug.

"Why are you crying, frog?" he whispered. Francis didn't even answer; he just hugged back, still sobbing happily, barely even hearing the cheer that erupted from Professor McGonagall, Gil, and Matthew behind him. He didn't even see it as Dumbledore smiled fondly, nodding his approval. All he cared about was the now warm, breathing, _living _angel, soft and slim and held tight in his arms. Francis could've died for happiness.

"You're such a sap," Arthur whispered, rolling his eyes. He sat up, full white wings trailing limply behind him for a moment, before they lifted from the floor and stretched, as though it were completely natural. Gil exploded in laughter behind them at the way Arthur didn't even appear to have to think about it. His best friend was part fucking _bird._

Francis just laughed and closed his eyes, resting his chin on Arthur's shoulder and letting the memory of those beautiful wings etch itself into his mind.

* * *

><p>It was pitch-dark by the time everyone had left Dumbledore's office to let him sleep in peace. Gil and Matthew headed up to the hospital wing together to get some of Gilbert's more severe cuts and bruises treated, and McGonagall bustled off to alert the kitchens of a feast now scheduled for tomorrow night, to celebrate the end of the Chamber of Secrets, once and for all. Francis didn't remember taking Arthur's hand, but their fingers were tightly entwined as the two of them walked down the torchlit corridor, glowing with warm light against the inky, star-specked midnight of the windows. It was almost as if Arthur thought they would be separated again at any moment. Every time he gave Francis's hand a little squeeze, Francis's heart leapt happily and he squeezed back, but it felt odd, to be holding his hand and feel it warm for once. He was still an angel; beautiful and white, green eyes shimmering brightly against the full, soft feathers of his wings, folded carefully against his back. It seemed so second-nature for Arthur, to have wings. It made Francis want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and another part of him wanted to just reach out and stroke those feathers. He wanted to touch.<p>

They had been silent for some time now, simply reveling in the quiet that was no longer awkward. After all, when you save someone's life, that has a tendency to restore friendships beyond what any apology could ever fix. Finally Francis spoke, giving voice to the one issue that had been on his mind since they'd managed to escape the Chamber alive.

"Arthur, when... when we came down after you into the Chamber, Andrea said something about the _Custos Stellarum_. I-I've heard of them, but only in legends and such. And now that I know you're one of them..."

Arthur looked at him quizzically, a small smile on his lips as he watched Francis struggle for words. Finally the Frenchman sighed and shook his head. "I guess, what I'm trying to ask is, why didn't you tell anyone? It's not exactly a gift to be ashamed of, Arthur."

The angel sighed, looking down under Francis's blue gaze. It took a moment of silence for him to gather his thoughts, put them into some form of a reply. Finally he spoke.

"I just didn't want to be looked at as a freak," he murmured. "You know how kids are—always looking for someone _different_ from themselves, and I just wanted to have a home where I was like everyone else for once. Because God knows I'm normal at my parents' house," he added, turning to Francis with a crooked grin. But it soon faded as he looked down at the floor again. "And besides, it's considered extremely dangerous to be one of us," he murmured. "There've been all kinds of religious wars and genocides against us, and many people target us for the powers. You saw how Andrea went after me like that. Wings are only the beginning.

"A lot of people think it's immoral and Satanic to have a human angel, and to throw magic in on top of it all—and to some extent, I agree with them. But... it's not really something we can control."

Francis quirked an eyebrow, looking at him questioningly. Arthur smiled a little again, green eyes sparkling and happy.

"Guess you didn't know I can't control when I change, huh?"

"_Non_," Francis laughed. "So, do you just grow wings in the middle of class or something occasionally?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to laugh, and he smacked the Frenchman gently on the shoulder. "Oh, hell, no! I mostly just change when there's danger threatening me or someone close to me. I haven't changed all year because the influence wasn't strong enough to overpower Andrea draining me through the ring. But I was at such a risk of being killed when she kidnapped me and dragged me down into the Chamber to finish the process that the transformation finally reacted, so I could fight. And..." He blushed a little, looking away sheepishly. "You saw how that went."

Francis laughed and gave his hand a squeeze. "You could've beaten her and that snake any day, _mon petit amour_, if she'd been playing fair. And besides—" He gave Arthur's had a little squeeze, leaning in closer. "If you hadn't been taken, I couldn't have saved you and you would never have given me a chance to apologize for last night."

Arthur stiffened and held his hand a little tighter, but didn't stop walking. "You're right," he finally murmured. "I wouldn't have." He paused, slowing down their pace for a moment as though carefully contemplating what he was about to say next. After a few seconds, he licked his lips and continued.

"And this reminds me," he whispered. "I never got a chance to thank you properly, did I?"

They had stopped walking now, and Francis realized he stood just behind the angel, pressed gently against his shoulder with his hands resting lightly on Arthur's slim hips. They were soft and warm through the thin silken fabric of his tunic, and he felt Arthur take a small, sharp breath when he rubbed his hand over the skin softly. His own heart missed a beat.

"_Non_," he murmured back, getting ready to pull away, but a slim hand caught his own and kept him there.

"Francis... thank you."

Arthur turned his head back to meet Francis's eyes, reaching up to trail feather-light fingertips lingeringly along his jaw, and just when the Frenchman thought he was only teasing, Arthur finally, _finally _leaned in to lock his mouth over his. Francis let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding against the full, soft lips that were claiming his own, before kissing back gently—again, and again...

His eyes had fallen peacefully closed as he gently turned the angel in his arms so they were pressed chest-to-chest, arms around each other and the kiss slowly growing deeper. He ran his tongue along Arthur's bottom lip, feeling mildly satisfied with himself when the angel shivered and parted his lips to allow Francis inside. Arthur tasted spicy and warm, like peppermint and some slightly bitter herb he couldn't quite place, but loved all the more for it. Francis couldn't get enough of it, pushing deeper into his mouth, wanting all of him, his breathing growing ragged. Arthur moaned, hands finding their way up to tangle in his hair, and pushed himself closer. His tongue flicked out to taste Francis, like cinnamon and sugar and sweet nectar from the honeysuckle flowers he'd used to pick when he was little. Slowly, Francis's hands were slipping from his waist—to move lower, and lower...

Arthur's arms were around his neck now, his legs sliding up to wrap around Francis's hips and make him moan into the angel's mouth. Arthur didn't notice his wings were straying open to fold loosely around them also, until finally Francis broke the kiss, panting, and Arthur blushed as he realized the Frenchman's hands were cupping and rubbing his bare ass beneath the tunic, the look in those pure blue eyes hot enough to burn.

"_Dieu_, I want you so bad..." Francis breathed huskily in his ear, breath hot and heavy, and he quickly took one arm away from Francis's neck to cover his mouth and withhold a moan. Arthur shut his eyes again as he felt the heat pooling between his legs overwhelm the embarrassment that had lit his cheeks only a moment before. The image of that lusty look burned into his closed eyelids; seeing it on Francis Bonnefoy's face, and directed at _him_, paired with the skilled hand that had slipped up and under the fabric of his tunic was just too much. He bit his lip and sighed in pleasure as he felt Francis's fingers kneading again and rubbing in hot little circles, but squirmed a bit to tell the other boy he wanted down.

Francis looked a little let down but set him gently back on the floor, where he locked their fingers together again.

"Someone might see if we do this against the wall in the middle of a school hallway," Arthur murmured, leaning up to whisper in his ear. But then he went on with a smirk, watching out of the corner of his eye as Francis's expression went from disappointed to delighted to thoroughly aroused with his next statement. "And besides—I know a _much_ better place."

* * *

><p><strong>Honhon, yummy gay kisses... I wuv. <strong>

**Anyway - did you get all that? I tried to explain it as best I could. Basically, Andrea was fiddling with the dark arts long before Francis even had the slightest clue, and managed to make a horcrux. She then put it into the book to hide it, and lie in wait for the opportune moment to put her plan into action, but was killed unexpectedly, and after the funeral and such, her things were auctioned off because Francis and his family had no place to put them. So that's how it ended up in the bookshop - and it was mere chance that one of the very ones she'd been trying to kill had picked it up.**

**Also, the Britannia Angel is actually in the Hetalia manga - and England officially changes into the angel when there's danger or an imbalance that needs to be corrected. The actual strip is quite hilarious. And now I can tell you why I killed Feli - because yes, there was reasoning behind that. Apparently, Italy is also shown as an angel, which in this case, means he would also be one of Andrea's top-priority victims. China... well, he's girly enough, right? /shot/**

**Well, that's it for now, eh! Hope you liked this chapter, 'cause I sure did. If there's anything you didn't understand, leave it in the reviews, and hopefully you'll receive a lengthy explanation reply within the week!**

**Thanks for reading! I promise I'm done now.**

**Love from Maple**


	20. What Magic is Made of

**A/N: Okay, guys; here's the deal. I've had this last chapter done for almost six days now, but I hadn't posted it due to some personal issues and the fact that I had been hoping to post it and the long-awaited smut scene in the same general time frame. Unfortunately, that isn't looking like it's going to happen. I WILL write that smut scene - even if I have to drag it through kicking and screaming the entire way, but I'm sorry I have to make you wait longer for it. There is simply no excuse for how late this update is either; please forgive me! **

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><p>Chapter Twenty: What Magic is Made of<p>

Arthur shifted drowsily, moving closer to the warm body beside him and snuggling into the strong chest. He made a small sound of contentment, barely registering the soft chuckle from above him in the sleepy haze. A warm shoulder moved beneath his cheek, and Francis's gentle hand came up to stroke his bedhead softly.

"You have the cutest noises," the Frenchman whispered fondly. And it was true—the sound of Arthur's soft, sweet little snores had lulled him to sleep last night as the two of them cuddled together in the afterglow. And now the quiet, half-conscious moans he was getting were even more perfect to wake up to than any other fantasy he could possibly imagine. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the sleeping Brit's forehead and earning a snort of disapproval. He laughed as Arthur buried his face in his chest, protesting like a teenager unwilling to get up for school. Again, he kissed Arthur's forehead, and he grunted.

"'Lright, 'lright, 'm up," he mumbled, earning a laugh from Francis. Did Arthur have any clue how adorable he was when he was rumpled and drowsy like this? Probably not; but then again, he never seemed to have any clue. As soon as Arthur dragged his face out of Francis's chest, the Frenchman was on him, showering his face with light, tickly butterfly kisses. Arthur mumbled something else, but made no move to stop him—and also no move to untwine their bodies from the heap they'd fallen into amongst the tangle of sheets. It was warm and incredibly cozy. But finally Arthur shifted, moving uncomfortably.

"What is it, _amour_?" Francis asked, pulling away from his face. Arthur grimaced.

"You fucking _murdered _my ass last night," he muttered, voice still rough from sleep. Francis tried not to laugh. Instead, he nuzzled Arthur's neck playfully and flipped them so he was on top.

"And you enjoyed every second of it," he giggled, kissing over Arthur's regal cheekbones. The Brit laughed and batted him away, but then sighed and slid his arms around his neck to pull Francis's weight down on top of him and wrapped his legs around his waist. He kissed the Frenchman with a smile against his lips, looking truly happy for one of the first times this year when he pulled away and rested his head back on the pillow, Francis lying protectively next to him, half on top of him and cuddling Arthur close in his arms.

"That I did, damn you," Arthur muttered. Then he looked up, meeting Francis's eyes, and kissed him again, much more gently. "You're just too good for me."

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><p>The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and Francis and Arthur walked inside.<p>

It was an explosion of color and noise and joy that seemed to echo off the walls and grow and mount with every step they took, finally reaching breaking point and exploding again as they continued walking forward. Everywhere they looked, students were laughing and yelling and celebrating, and in one corner there were even fireworks going off. The delicious scent of food wafted through the doors behind them, a sure sign the kitchens were busy, and Dumbledore and the teachers were sitting at the head table, laughing and smiling at the students' antics. For once, Filch wasn't even there to spoil the fun. Arthur could already feel himself being swept up in the wave of intense excitement.

Gil and Matthew were sitting together at the Gryffindor table amid a crowd of other students, including the silent, black-haired sixth year, who currently had a huge amount of blood dripping from his nose—but he was smiling widely, which was incredible for him. The blond fangirl had her camera out and was madly snapping pictures. Gil was grinning like a maniac, holding up his and Matthew's interlocked fingers for everyone else to see as the shy fourth year blushed and grinned sheepishly along with him, clearly happy beyond belief. Francis couldn't help himself; he let out a keening catcall, laughing when Gil's face lit up and he and Matthew quickly pushed through the group and came running at them.

"Arthur's okay! That's _great!_" Matthew called, barely audible above the noise although it was clear he was yelling as loud as he possibly could. Arthur laughed.

"And—holy shit. Just realized why Dumbledore advised me and Mattie not to go looking for you last night..." Gil added, sidling up behind him with a sly wink.

Two of the girls behind them squealed and collapsed flat on the floor, out cold with blood trickling from their noses. Francis and Arthur exchanged glances, and then Arthur laughed a little nervously.

"Yeah, it would've been pretty awkward if you'd found us," he admitted, face burning. Matthew blushed and laughed, and Gil just shrugged.

"It was bound to happen sometime," he said with a grin.

Arthur punched him.

"Quite a lot of faith you have in your best friend, I see," he muttered. Gilbert just laughed, but any reply he could've made was cut short by Patrick's dramatic entrance; the redheaded Ravenclaw crashed head-on into Arthur and tackled him clear to the ground in a huge hug.

"Holy shit, you're alive! Merlin, you're actually alive! You had me scared _out of my mind_ yesterday, Artie! Fuck you!" Patrick yelled, hugging his friend like Arthur would dissipate into dust at any second. He sounded half-angry, half-relieved, and altogether joyful. Arthur sighed, meeting Francis's gaze and rolling his eyes pointedly, although he didn't truly seem annoyed as he awkwardly patted Patrick on the back. Francis smiled as Patrick finally let him go, and helped Arthur to his feet. But when Francis tried to pull his fingers away, Arthur kept a gentle grip and laced them together. The two of them exchanged little grins—_We know something they don't know!_

Everyone else grinned too and simply watched as Francis held Arthur's gaze, feeling like those beautiful green eyes were sucking him in, remembering last night, when they'd been clouded with lust like misty sea glass, and even before that, all the looks he'd seen in those eyes alone this year; annoyed, content, terrified, sad, laughing, stormy, let down and mischievous. All those looks were blown away by the one Francis saw now. It was a subtle glow, nothing like the dangerous flashing that always happened when Arthur was pushed too close to a touchy subject, but _happy_. Very, very happy. But it was quiet happiness. Francis gave his hand a squeeze, and the glow flared excitedly for a moment before sinking back down to a simple, quiet joy. Francis thought he had seen tiny, brief little glimpses of that look all year, but only now it was pure and clear for him to revel in and simply enjoy. But did he dare think of a name for it? If he labeled it, and was wrong, then...

The only thing Francis could think of to call it was_ love_.

Arthur smiled, a light blush tinting his cheeks and his entire face lighting up as Patrick whistled. But before he got a chance to smack his friend, Dumbledore's voice rang through the Hall—and he was calling for silence.

The Headmaster's brilliant blue eyes shimmered like those of a young boy as he called Francis, Arthur, Patrick, Gil and Matthew up to stand beside him. Francis and Arthur exchanged glances, Arthur looking a bit nervous, but Francis gave his fingers a squeeze and it soon disappeared amid the fangirl squeals and wolf-whistles at their entwined fingers. They looked at each other, grinning, and didn't let go.

As the five of them stood there beside him at the front of the room, Dumbledore explained everything—the bloody writing on the walls, the deaths, the bizarre mass execution of the roosters—to the school. There were times when Arthur felt like sinking through the floor, knowing _he _had been the one doing all these things, tool or no, but Francis seemed to sense it and stepped a little closer, as if to remind Arthur whose fault it really was with his comforting warmth. He moved a little closer, too, and felt better again.

When the story was finished, there was a moment of stunned, reverent silence that seemed to hang over the Great Hall like a massive storm cloud. And then, when no one moved, or spoke, or did anything, Dumbledore broke it again.

He turned to Francis, Arthur, Patrick, Matthew and Gil, who were all standing in a line beside him, and the smile returned to his features.

"And now, I would like to add that without the bravery of these five young men, our school would have been closed long before now. Arthur put up a superhuman fight against his captor—" The Headmaster shot him a wink, sharing an inside joke over his angel wings— "without which Francis, Gilbert, and Matthew couldn't have been there to save him. Patrick came to get the teachers, and I must say, without his alert in advance, I do not think I would have been prepared enough to be able to save Arthur's life.

"Francis pieced together the clues, solving the riddle without which they would never have been able to find him. Gilbert had the nerve to fight no matter what the cost, and if he had not been there, they wouldn't ever have survived the basilisk—and Matthew had the tact, to stay in the shadows and wait for the opportune moment to strike, and the strength and courage to do what was necessary when that moment came. Without him, no one would be alive to stand before you today."

Dumbledore looked kindly down at the boy, who was now blushing profusely and looking extremely happy. Arthur watched as Gilbert turned to him, whispering in his ear.

"You did it, Birdie! You're a hero!"

Matthew batted him away gently, still grinning as Dumbledore went on with his speech, chuckling at the slightly stunned looks on all the boys' faces.

"So you see, these are the people that magic is made of. Everyone has a bit of it inside themselves; and when it shows itself in the darkest of times, it gives hope and light even when all seems lost. May I remind you that every great witch or wizard there ever was started out just as you are now; as a student. And the five young men standing before you today are proof that no matter who you are, or where you come from, everyone can still shine. It is not your origin or background that defines who you really are; it is your _choices. _And so, today, I give you the five brave young men who had the courage and devotion to rise to heroism when the times required a hero."

A moment of dead silence.

And then, a blond-haired fourth year boy leapt to his feet from the Gryffindor table, pointing reverently to Matthew.

"_THAT'S MY BRO!_"

Arthur couldn't help but laugh at the supremely joyful look that appeared on Matthew's face at finally having made his twin proud.

The applause spread like a wildfire of joy, and soon the entire school was on its feet, whooping and cheering and screaming just like Alfred had. Matthew was laughing, Gil and Patrick along with him, and he turned to Arthur, violet eyes alight with joy and admiration, and pointedly began to clap.

The crowd was flooding up to them now, surrounding the group, shaking their hands and congratulating and hugging and yelling and laughing all the while. Gil's grin was priceless, glowing with pride and complete joy as Matthew looked at him for a moment, then threw his arms around the albino's neck and hugged him within an inch of his life.

Patrick was clapping too, now, smiling and sinking into the crowd, though his gaze was fixed on Francis and Arthur the entire while.

"You'd better take good care of him," he yelled over the noise to Francis, who laughed and nodded as he watched the redhead disappear from sight.

And now he stepped up against Arthur's back, letting go of his hand to instead sneak his arms around the Brit's slim waist. A few squeals rang out over the crowd, and Arthur grinned, turning slowly to face him. His hands, warm and soft, slid over Francis's chest and up to the smooth, creamy skin of his face. Arthur leaned in closer, letting his eyes fall closed peacefully and his forehead come to rest against Francis's, feeling their lips brush and warm, fresh breath on his face when he spoke, rubbing small strokes up and down his back.

"You ready?" Francis breathed, and Arthur suddenly felt remarkably calm against all the noise—like a cloak had just wrapped around him, to block away the storm.

"Just kiss me already, frog," Arthur whispered back with mock impatience, smiling softly before he felt Francis move forward the tiniest bit, and he covered the Frenchman's lips with his own.

Screeches of pure and utter ecstasy rang out, the noise and chaos around them increasing tenfold, but neither of them heard anything more than a low, muffled rumble of a crowd. Nor did they notice the blond fangirl taking photos, or the fact that the fan_girl_ was actually—a _guy_? Sure enough, the person with the straight blond hair and wearing a fitted pink sweater and glittery pony necklace around his neck was definitely, _definitely _a boy.

But Francis and Arthur didn't care. Neither did they care that their Headmaster was watching this entire scene play out from the background, and contemplating with a slight grin how to get Feliks to sell him one of those photos.

When they finally broke apart, all Arthur could do was grin and hug Francis around the neck, staring into those deep blue eyes that held exactly the same emotions he was feeling at the moment. He lay his head on Francis's chest to listen to the strong, steady heartbeat that seemed to be racing just a little bit faster than the norm and felt the frog reach up to stroke his hair, biting his lip to hold in a contented sigh as he hugged Francis tighter. Even the blond fanboy had collapsed into a squealing pile of mush now, and Arthur could honestly say that he really didn't give a shit. His and Francis's eyes met again, and he pulled the Frenchman down for another kiss.

It was good to be alive.

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><p><strong>Wow. I guess... this is pretty much it, huh? Thank you, guys. SO. MUCH. I can't thank my lovely readers enough for sticking with me through this insane undertaking, which has turned out much, MUCH longer than anything else I've even begun to <em>think<em> of writing before. Your reviews have encouraged me and kept me going both in my writing and through everything else, so THANK YOU. DANKE! MERCI! GRAZIE!**

**And also, because discovering this has excited me to no end and I think you all have a right to know, when I added together all the separate chapters into a single document in my word processor (minus the smut scene, which I wouldn't want to print out anyway... *is guilty*), the full number of pages was 156, FRONT AND BACK printed. Heh, guess I'll have to get a bigger binder to put this manuscript in, eh?**

**Well, anyway. See you next time - working hard on le smut, so until then! I heart you!**


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